UP FROM SLAVERY

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

BY

BOOKER T. WASHINGTON

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PREFACE

This volume is the outgrowth of a series of articles, dealing with
incidents in my life, which were published consecutively in the
Outlook. While they were appearing in that magazine I was constantly
surprised at the number of requests which came to me from all parts of
the country, asking that the articles be permanently preserved in book
form. I am most grateful to the Outlook for permission to gratify
these requests.

I have tried to tell a simple, straightforward story, with no attempt
at embellishment. My regret is that what I have attempted to do has
been done so imperfectly. The greater part of my time and strength is
required for the executive work connected with the Tuskegee Normal and
Industrial Institute, and in securing the money necessary for the
support of the institution. Much of what I have said has been written
on board trains, or at hotels or railroad stations while I have been waiting
forviii trains, or during the moments that I could spare from my work
while at Tuskegee. Without the painstaking and generous assistance of
Mr. Max Bennett Thrasher I could not have succeeded in any
satisfactory degree.

UP FROM SLAVERY

CHAPTER I

A SLAVE AMONG SLAVES

I

WAS born a slave on a plantation in Franklin County, Virginia. I am
not quite sure of the exact place or exact date of my birth, but at
any rate I suspect I must have been born somewhere and at some time.
As nearly as I have been able to learn, I was born near a cross-roads
post-office called Hale’s Ford, and the year was 1858 or 1859. I do
not know the month or the day. The earliest impressions I can now
recall are of the plantation and the slave quarters—the latter
being the part of the plantation where the slaves had their cabins.

My life had its beginning in the midst of the most miserable,
desolate, and discouraging surroundings. This was so, however, not
because my owners were especially cruel, for they were not, as
compared with many others. I was born in a
typical2 log cabin, about fourteen by sixteen feet square. In this cabin I
lived with my mother and a brother and sister till after the Civil
War, when we were all declared free.

Of my ancestry I know almost nothing. In the slave quarters, and even
later, I heard whispered conversations among the coloured people of
the tortures which the slaves, including, no doubt, my ancestors on my
mother’s side, suffered in the middle passage of the slave ship while
being conveyed from Africa to America. I have been unsuccessful in
securing any information that would throw any accurate light upon
the history of my family beyond my mother. She, I remember, had a
half-brother and a half-sister. In the days of slavery not very much
attention was given to family history and family records—that is,
black family records. My mother, I suppose, attracted the attention of
a purchaser who was afterward my owner and hers. Her addition to the
slave family attracted about as much attention as the purchase of a
new horse or cow. Of my father I know even less than of my mother. I
do not even know his name. I have heard reports to the effect that he
was a white man who lived on one of the near-by plantations. Whoever
he was, I never heard of his taking the least interest in me or
providing in any way for my rearing. But I do not
find3 especial fault with him. He was simply another unfortunate
victim of the institution which the Nation unhappily had engrafted
upon it at that time.

The cabin was not only our living-place, but was also used as the
kitchen for the plantation. My mother was the plantation cook. The
cabin was without glass windows; it had only openings in the side
which let in the light, and also the cold, chilly air of winter. There
was a door to the cabin—that is, something that was called a
door—but the uncertain hinges by which it was hung, and the large cracks in
it, to say nothing of the fact that it was too small, made the room a
very uncomfortable one. In addition to these openings there was, in
the lower right-hand corner of the room, the “cat-hole,”—a
contrivance which almost every mansion or cabin in Virginia possessed
during the ante-bellum period. The “cat-hole” was a square opening,
about seven by eight inches, provided for the purpose of letting the
cat pass in and out of the house at will during the night. In the case
of our particular cabin I could never understand the necessity for
this convenience, since there were at least a half-dozen other places
in the cabin that would have accommodated the cats. There was no
wooden floor in our cabin, the naked earth being used as a floor.
In4 the centre of the earthen floor there was a large, deep opening
covered with boards, which was used as a place in which to store sweet
potatoes during the winter. An impression of this potato-hole is very
distinctly engraved upon my memory, because I recall that during the
process of putting the potatoes in or taking them out I would often
come into possession of one or two, which I roasted and thoroughly
enjoyed. There was no cooking-stove on our plantation, and all the
cooking for the whites and slaves my mother had to do over an open
fireplace, mostly in pots and “skillets.” While the poorly built cabin
caused us to suffer with cold in the winter, the heat from the open
fireplace in summer was equally trying.

The early years of my life, which were spent in the little cabin,
were not very different from those of thousands of other slaves. My
mother, of course, had little time in which to give attention to the
training of her children during the day. She snatched a few moments
for our care in the early morning before her work began, and at night
after the day’s work was done. One of my earliest recollections is
that of my mother cooking a chicken late at night, and awakening her
children for the purpose of feeding them. How or where she got it I do
not know. I presume, however, it was
procured5 from our owner’s farm. Some people may call this theft. If
such a thing were to happen now, I should condemn it as theft myself.
But taking place at the time it did, and for the reason that it did,
no one could ever make me believe that my mother was guilty of
thieving. She was simply a victim of the system of slavery. I cannot
remember having slept in a bed until after our family was declared
free by the Emancipation Proclamation. Three children—John, my older
brother, Amanda, my sister, and myself—had a pallet on the dirt
floor, or, to be more correct, we slept in and on a bundle of filthy
rags laid upon the dirt floor.

I was asked not long ago to tell something about the sports and
pastimes that I engaged in during my youth. Until that question was
asked it had never occurred to me that there was no period of my life
that was devoted to play. From the time that I can remember anything,
almost every day of my life has been occupied in some kind of labour;
though I think I would now be a more useful man if I had had time for
sports. During the period that I spent in slavery I was not large
enough to be of much service, still I was occupied most of the time in
cleaning the yards, carrying water to the men in the fields, or going
to the mill,
to6 which I used to take the corn, once a week, to be ground. The mill
was about three miles from the plantation. This work I always dreaded.
The heavy bag of corn would be thrown across the back of the horse,
and the corn divided about evenly on each side; but in some way,
almost without exception, on these trips, the corn would so shift as
to become unbalanced and would fall off the horse, and often I would
fall with it. As I was not strong enough to reload the corn upon the
horse, I would have to wait, sometimes for many hours, till a chance
passer-by came along who would help me out of my trouble. The hours
while waiting for some one were usually spent in crying. The time
consumed in this way made me late in reaching the mill, and by the
time I got my corn ground and reached home it would be far into the
night. The road was a lonely one, and often led through dense forests.
I was always frightened. The woods were said to be full of soldiers
who had deserted from the army, and I had been told that the first
thing a deserter did to a Negro boy when he found him alone was to cut
off his ears. Besides, when I was late in getting home I knew I would
always get a severe scolding or a flogging.

I had no schooling whatever while I was a slave, though I remember on
several occasions I went as
far7 as the schoolhouse door with one of my young mistresses to carry
her books. The picture of several dozen boys and girls in a schoolroom
engaged in study made a deep impression upon me, and I had the feeling
that to get into a schoolhouse and study in this way would be about
the same as getting into paradise.

So far as I can now recall, the first knowledge that I got of the
fact that we were slaves, and that freedom of the slaves was being
discussed, was early one morning before day, when I was awakened by my
mother kneeling over her children and fervently praying that Lincoln
and his armies might be successful, and that one day she and her
children might be free. In this connection I have never been able to
understand how the slaves throughout the South, completely ignorant as
were the masses so far as books or newspapers were concerned, were
able to keep themselves so accurately and completely informed about
the great National questions that were agitating the country. From the
time that Garrison, Lovejoy, and others began to agitate for freedom,
the slaves throughout the South kept in close touch with the progress
of the movement. Though I was a mere child during the preparation for
the Civil War and during the war itself, I now recall the many late-at-night
whispered8 discussions that I heard my mother and the other slaves on
the plantation indulge in. These discussions showed that they
understood the situation, and that they kept themselves informed of
events by what was termed the “grape-vine” telegraph.

During the campaign when Lincoln was first a candidate for the
Presidency, the slaves on our far-off plantation, miles from any
railroad or large city or daily newspaper, knew what the issues
involved were. When war was begun between the North and the South,
every slave on our plantation felt and knew that, though other issues
were discussed, the primal one was that of slavery. Even the most
ignorant members of my race on the remote plantations felt in their
hearts, with a certainty that admitted of no doubt, that the freedom
of the slaves would be the one great result of the war, if the
Northern armies conquered. Every success of the Federal armies and
every defeat of the Confederate forces was watched with the keenest
and most intense interest. Often the slaves got knowledge of the
results of great battles before the white people received it. This
news was usually gotten from the coloured man who was sent to the
post-office for the mail. In our case the post-office was about three
miles from the plantation and the mail came once or twice a week. The
man9 who was sent to the office would linger about the place long
enough to get the drift of the conversation from the group of white
people who naturally congregated there, after receiving their mail, to
discuss the latest news. The mail-carrier on his way back to our
master’s house would as naturally retail the news that he had secured
among the slaves, and in this way they often heard of important events
before the white people at the “big house,” as the master’s house was
called.

I cannot remember a single instance during my childhood or early
boyhood when our entire family sat down to the table together, and
God’s blessing was asked, and the family ate a meal in a civilized
manner. On the plantation in Virginia, and even later, meals were
gotten by the children very much as dumb animals get theirs. It was a
piece of bread here and a scrap of meat there. It was a cup of milk at
one time and some potatoes at another. Sometimes a portion of our
family would eat out of the skillet or pot, while some one else would
eat from a tin plate held on the knees, and often using nothing but
the hands with which to hold the food. When I had grown to sufficient
size, I was required to go to the “big house” at meal-times to fan the
flies from the table by means of a large set of paper fans operated by
a pulley. Naturally much of the
conversation10 of the white people turned upon the subject of freedom
and the war, and I absorbed a good deal of it. I remember that at one
time I saw two of my young mistresses and some lady visitors eating
ginger-cakes, in the yard. At that time those cakes seemed to me to be
absolutely the most tempting and desirable things that I had ever
seen; and I then and there resolved that, if I ever got free, the
height of my ambition would be reached if I could get to the point
where I could secure and eat ginger-cakes in the way that I saw those
ladies doing.

Of course as the war was prolonged the white people, in many cases,
often found it difficult to secure food for themselves. I think the
slaves felt the deprivation less than the whites, because the usual
diet for the slaves was corn bread and pork, and these could be raised
on the plantation; but coffee, tea, sugar, and other articles which
the whites had been accustomed to use could not be raised on the
plantation, and the conditions brought about by the war frequently
made it impossible to secure these things. The whites were often in
great straits. Parched corn was used for coffee, and a kind of black
molasses was used instead of sugar. Many times nothing was used to
sweeten the so-called tea and coffee.

The11 first pair of shoes that I recall wearing were wooden ones. They
had rough leather on the top, but the bottoms, which were about an
inch thick, were of wood. When I walked they made a fearful noise, and
besides this they were very inconvenient, since there was no yielding
to the natural pressure of the foot. In wearing them one presented an
exceedingly awkward appearance. The most trying ordeal that I was
forced to endure as a slave boy, however, was the wearing of a flax
shirt. In the portion of Virginia where I lived it was common to use
flax as part of the clothing for the slaves. That part of the flax
from which our clothing was made was largely the refuse, which of
course was the cheapest and roughest part. I can scarcely imagine any
torture, except, perhaps, the pulling of a tooth, that is equal to
that caused by putting on a new flax shirt for the first time. It is
almost equal to the feeling that one would experience if he had a
dozen or more chestnut burrs, or a hundred small pin-points, in
contact with his flesh. Even to this day I can recall accurately the
tortures that I underwent when putting on one of these garments. The
fact that my flesh was soft and tender added to the pain. But I had no
choice. I had to wear the flax shirt or none; and had it been left to
me to choose, I should have chosen to wear no covering.
In12 connection with the flax shirt, my brother John, who is several
years older than I am, performed one of the most generous acts that I
ever heard of one slave relative doing for another. On several
occasions when I was being forced to wear a new flax shirt, he
generously agreed to put it on in my stead and wear it for several
days, till it was “broken in.” Until I had grown to be quite a youth
this single garment was all that I wore.

One may get the idea, from what I have said, that there was bitter
feeling toward the white people on the part of my race, because of the
fact that most of the white population was away fighting in a war
which would result in keeping the Negro in slavery if the South was
successful. In the case of the slaves on our place this was not true,
and it was not true of any large portion of the slave population in
the South where the Negro was treated with anything like decency.
During the Civil War one of my young masters was killed, and two were
severely wounded. I recall the feeling of sorrow which existed among
the slaves when they heard of the death of “Mars’ Billy.” It was no
sham sorrow, but real. Some of the slaves had nursed “Mars’ Billy”;
others had played with him when he was a child. “Mars’ Billy” had
begged for mercy in the case of others when the overseer or master was
thrashing13 them. The sorrow in the slave quarter was only second to
that in the “big house.” When the two young masters were brought home
wounded, the sympathy of the slaves was shown in many ways. They were
just as anxious to assist in the nursing as the family relatives of
the wounded. Some of the slaves would even beg for the privilege of
sitting up at night to nurse their wounded masters. This tenderness
and sympathy on the part of those held in bondage was a result of
their kindly and generous nature. In order to defend and protect the
women and children who were left on the plantations when the white
males went to war, the slaves would have laid down their lives. The
slave who was selected to sleep in the “big house” during the absence
of the males was considered to have the place of honour. Any one
attempting to harm “young Mistress” or “old Mistress” during the night
would have had to cross the dead body of the slave to do so. I do not
know how many have noticed it, but I think that it will be found to be
true that there are few instances, either in slavery or freedom, in
which a member of my race has been known to betray a specific trust.

As a rule, not only did the members of my race entertain no feelings of
bitterness against the whites before and during the war, but there are many
instances14 of Negroes tenderly caring for their former masters and
mistresses who for some reason have become poor and dependent since
the war. I know of instances where the former masters of slaves have
for years been supplied with money by their former slaves to keep them
from suffering. I have known of still other cases in which the former
slaves have assisted in the education of the descendants of their
former owners. I know of a case on a large plantation in the South in
which a young white man, the son of the former owner of the estate,
has become so reduced in purse and self-control by reason of drink
that he is a pitiable creature; and yet, notwithstanding the poverty
of the coloured people themselves on this plantation, they have for
years supplied this young white man with the necessities of life. One
sends him a little coffee or sugar, another a little meat, and so on.
Nothing that the coloured people possess is too good for the son of
“old Mars’ Tom,” who will perhaps never be permitted to suffer while
any remain on the place who knew directly or indirectly of “old Mars’
Tom.”

I have said that there are few instances of a member of my race
betraying a specific trust. One of the best illustrations of this
which I know of is in the case of an ex-slave from Virginia
whom15 I met not long ago in a little town in the state of Ohio. I
found that this man had made a contract with his master, two or three
years previous to the Emancipation Proclamation, to the effect that
the slave was to be permitted to buy himself, by paying so much per
year for his body; and while he was paying for himself, he was to be
permitted to labour where and for whom he pleased. Finding that he
could secure better wages in Ohio, he went there. When freedom came,
he was still in debt to his master some three hundred dollars.
Notwithstanding that the Emancipation Proclamation freed him from any
obligation to his master, this black man walked the greater portion of
the distance back to where his old master lived in Virginia, and
placed the last dollar, with interest, in his hands. In talking to me
about this, the man told me that he knew that he did not have to pay
the debt, but that he had given his word to his master, and his word
he had never broken. He felt that he could not enjoy his freedom till
he had fulfilled his promise.

From some things that I have said one may get the idea that some of
the slaves did not want freedom. This is not true. I have never seen
one who did not want to be free, or one who would return to slavery.

I16 pity from the bottom of my heart any nation or body of people that
is so unfortunate as to get entangled in the net of slavery. I have
long since ceased to cherish any spirit of bitterness against the
Southern white people on account of the enslavement of my race. No one
section of our country was wholly responsible for its introduction,
and, besides, it was recognized and protected for years by the General
Government. Having once got its tentacles fastened on to the economic
and social life of the Republic, it was no easy matter for the country
to relieve itself of the institution. Then, when we rid ourselves of
prejudice, or racial feeling, and look facts in the face, we must
acknowledge that, notwithstanding the cruelty and moral wrong of
slavery, the ten million Negroes inhabiting this country, who
themselves or whose ancestors went through the school of American
slavery, are in a stronger and more hopeful condition, materially,
intellectually, morally, and religiously, than is true of an equal
number of black people in any other portion of the globe. This is so
to such an extent that Negroes in this country, who themselves or
whose forefathers went through the school of slavery, are constantly
returning to Africa as missionaries to enlighten those who remained in
the fatherland. This I say, not to justify slavery—on the other hand, I
condemn17 it as an institution, as we all know that in America it was
established for selfish and financial reasons, and not from a
missionary motive—but to call attention to a fact, and to show how
Providence so often uses men and institutions to accomplish a purpose.
When persons ask me in these days how, in the midst of what sometimes
seem hopelessly discouraging conditions, I can have such faith in the
future of my race in this country, I remind them of the wilderness
through which and out of which, a good Providence has already led us.

Ever since I have been old enough to think for myself, I have
entertained the idea that, notwithstanding the cruel wrongs inflicted
upon us, the black man got nearly as much out of slavery as the white
man did. The hurtful influences of the institution were not by any
means confined to the Negro. This was fully illustrated by the life
upon our own plantation. The whole machinery of slavery was so
constructed as to cause labour, as a rule, to be looked upon as a
badge of degradation, of inferiority. Hence labour was something that
both races on the slave plantation sought to escape. The slave system
on our place, in a large measure, took the spirit of self-reliance and
self-help out of the white people. My old master had many boys and
girls, but not one, so far as I know, ever
mastered18 a single trade or special line of productive industry. The girls were
not taught to cook, sew, or to take care of the house. All of this was
left to the slaves. The slaves, of course, had little personal
interest in the life of the plantation, and their ignorance prevented
them from learning how to do things in the most improved and thorough
manner. As a result of the system, fences were out of repair, gates
were hanging half off the hinges, doors creaked, window-panes were
out, plastering had fallen but was not replaced, weeds grew in the
yard. As a rule, there was food for whites and blacks, but inside the
house, and on the dining-room table, there was wanting that delicacy
and refinement of touch and finish which can make a home the most
convenient, comfortable, and attractive place in the world. Withal
there was a waste of food and other materials which was sad. When
freedom came, the slaves were almost as well fitted to begin life anew
as the master, except in the matter of book-learning and ownership of
property. The slave owner and his sons had mastered no special
industry. They unconsciously had imbibed the feeling that manual
labour was not the proper thing for them. On the other hand, the
slaves, in many cases, had mastered some handicraft, and none were
ashamed, and few unwilling, to labour.

Finally19 the war closed, and the day of freedom came. It was a
momentous and eventful day to all upon our plantation. We had been
expecting it. Freedom was in the air, and had been for months.
Deserting soldiers returning to their homes were to be seen every day.
Others who had been discharged, or whose regiments had been paroled,
were constantly passing near our place. The “grape-vine telegraph” was
kept busy night and day. The news and mutterings of great events were
swiftly carried from one plantation to another. In the fear of
“Yankee” invasions, the silverware and other valuables were taken from
the “big house,” buried in the woods, and guarded by trusted slaves.
Woe be to any one who would have attempted to disturb the buried
treasure. The slaves would give the Yankee soldiers food, drink,
clothing—anything but that which had been specifically intrusted to
their care and honour. As the great day drew nearer, there was more
singing in the slave quarters than usual. It was bolder, had more
ring, and lasted later into the night. Most of the verses of the
plantation songs had some reference to freedom. True, they had sung
those same verses before, but they had been careful to explain that
the “freedom” in these songs referred to the next world, and had no connection
with20 life in this world. Now they gradually threw off the mask, and
were not afraid to let it be known that the “freedom” in their songs
meant freedom of the body in this world. The night before the eventful
day, word was sent to the slave quarters to the effect that something
unusual was going to take place at the “big house” the next morning.
There was little, if any, sleep that night. All was excitement and
expectancy. Early the next morning word was sent to all the slaves,
old and young, to gather at the house. In company with my mother,
brother, and sister, and a large number of other slaves, I went to the
master’s house. All of our master’s family were either standing or
seated on the veranda of the house, where they could see what was to
take place and hear what was said. There was a feeling of deep
interest, or perhaps sadness, on their faces, but not bitterness. As I
now recall the impression they made upon me, they did not at the
moment seem to be sad because of the loss of property, but rather
because of parting with those whom they had reared and who were in
many ways very close to them. The most distinct thing that I now
recall in connection with the scene was that some man who seemed to be
a stranger (a United States officer, I presume) made a little speech
and then read a rather long
paper—the21 Emancipation Proclamation, I think. After the reading we were
told that we were all free, and could go when and where we pleased. My
mother, who was standing by my side, leaned over and kissed her
children, while tears of joy ran down her cheeks. She explained to us
what it all meant, that this was the day for which she had been so
long praying, but fearing that she would never live to see.

For some minutes there was great rejoicing, and thanksgiving, and
wild scenes of ecstasy. But there was no feeling of bitterness. In
fact, there was pity among the slaves for our former owners. The wild
rejoicing on the part of the emancipated coloured people lasted but
for a brief period, for I noticed that by the time they returned to
their cabins there was a change in their feelings. The great
responsibility of being free, of having charge of themselves, of
having to think and plan for themselves and their children, seemed to
take possession of them. It was very much like suddenly turning a
youth of ten or twelve years out into the world to provide for
himself. In a few hours the great questions with which the Anglo-Saxon
race had been grappling for centuries had been thrown upon these
people to be solved. These were the questions of a home, a living, the
rearing of children,
education, 22 citizenship, and the establishment and support of
churches. Was it any wonder that within a few hours the wild rejoicing
ceased and a feeling of deep gloom seemed to pervade the slave
quarters? To some it seemed that, now that they were in actual
possession of it, freedom was a more serious thing than they had
expected to find it. Some of the slaves were seventy or eighty years
old; their best days were gone. They had no strength with which to
earn a living in a strange place and among strange people, even if
they had been sure where to find a new place of abode. To this class
the problem seemed especially hard. Besides, deep down in their hearts
there was a strange and peculiar attachment to “old Marster” and “old
Missus,” and to their children, which they found it hard to think
of breaking off. With these they had spent in some cases nearly a
half-century, and it was no light thing to think of parting. Gradually, one
by one, stealthily at first, the older slaves began to wander from the
slave quarters back to the “big house” to have a whispered
conversation with their former owners as to the future.

CHAPTER II

BOYHOOD DAYS

A

FTER the coming of freedom there were two points upon which
practically all the people on our place were agreed, and I find that
this was generally true throughout the South: that they must change
their names, and that they must leave the old plantation for at least
a few days or weeks in order that they might really feel sure that
they were free.

In some way a feeling got among the coloured people that it was far
from proper for them to bear the surname of their former owners, and a
great many of them took other surnames. This was one of the first
signs of freedom. When they were slaves, a coloured person was simply
called “John” or “Susan.” There was seldom occasion for more than the
use of the one name. If “John” or “Susan” belonged to a white man by
the name of “Hatcher,” sometimes he was called “John Hatcher,” or as
often “Hatcher’s John.” But there was a feeling that “John Hatcher” or “Hatcher’s
John” 24 was not the proper title by which to denote a freeman; and so
in many cases “John Hatcher” was changed to “John S. Lincoln” or “John
S. Sherman,” the initial “S” standing for no name, it being simply a
part of what the coloured man proudly called his “entitles.”

As I have stated, most of the coloured people left the old plantation
for a short while at least, so as to be sure, it seemed, that they
could leave and try their freedom on to see how it felt. After they
had remained away for a time, many of the older slaves, especially,
returned to their old homes and made some kind of contract with their
former owners by which they remained on the estate.

My mother’s husband, who was the stepfather of my brother John and
myself, did not belong to the same owners as did my mother. In fact,
he seldom came to our plantation. I remember seeing him there perhaps
once a year, that being about Christmas time. In some way, during the
war, by running away and following the Federal soldiers, it seems, he
found his way into the new state of West Virginia. As soon as freedom
was declared, he sent for my mother to come to the Kanawha Valley, in
West Virginia. At that time a journey from Virginia over the mountains
to West Virginia was rather a tedious and in some cases a painful
undertaking. 25 What little clothing and few household goods we had were
placed in a cart, but the children walked the greater portion of the
distance, which was several hundred miles.

I do not think any of us ever had been very far from the plantation,
and the taking of a long journey into another state was quite an
event. The parting from our former owners and the members of our own
race on the plantation was a serious occasion. From the time of our
parting till their death we kept up a correspondence with the older
members of the family, and in later years we have kept in touch with
those who were the younger members. We were several weeks making the
trip, and most of the time we slept in the open air and did our
cooking over a log fire out-of-doors. One night I recall that we
camped near an abandoned log cabin, and my mother decided to build a
fire in that for cooking, and afterward to make a “pallet” on the
floor for our sleeping. Just as the fire had gotten well started a
large black snake fully a yard and a half long dropped down the
chimney and ran out on the floor. Of course we at once abandoned that
cabin. Finally we reached our destination—a little town called
Malden, which is about five miles from Charleston, the present capital
of the state.

At that time salt-mining was the great industry in
that26 part of West Virginia, and the little town of Malden was right
in the midst of the salt-furnaces. My stepfather had already secured a
job at a salt-furnace, and he had also secured a little cabin for us to
live in. Our new house was no better than the one we had left on the
old plantation in Virginia. In fact, in one respect it was worse.
Notwithstanding the poor condition of our plantation cabin, we were at
all times sure of pure air. Our new home was in the midst of a cluster
of cabins crowded closely together, and as there were no sanitary
regulations, the filth about the cabins was often intolerable. Some of
our neighbours were coloured people, and some were the poorest and
most ignorant and degraded white people. It was a motley mixture.
Drinking, gambling, quarrels, fights, and shockingly immoral practices
were frequent. All who lived in the little town were in one way or
another connected with the salt business. Though I was a mere child,
my stepfather put me and my brother at work in one of the furnaces.
Often I began work as early as four o’clock in the morning.

The first thing I ever learned in the way of book knowledge was while
working in this salt-furnace. Each salt-packer had his barrels marked
with a certain number. The number allotted to my stepfather was “18.”
At the close of the day’s work
the27 boss of the packers would come around and put “18” on each of our
barrels, and I soon learned to recognize that figure wherever I saw
it, and after a while got to the point where I could make that figure,
though I knew nothing about any other figures or letters.

From the time that I can remember having any thoughts about anything,
I recall that I had an intense longing to learn to read. I determined,
when quite a small child, that, if I accomplished nothing else in
life, I would in some way get enough education to enable me to read
common books and newspapers. Soon after we got settled in some manner
in our new cabin in West Virginia, I induced my mother to get hold of
a book for me. How or where she got it I do not know, but in some way
she procured an old copy of Webster’s “blue-back” spelling-book, which
contained the alphabet, followed by such meaningless words as “ab,”
“ba,” “ca,” “da.” I began at once to devour this book, and I think
that it was the first one I ever had in my hands. I had learned from
somebody that the way to begin to read was to learn the alphabet, so I
tried in all the ways I could think of to learn it,—all of course
without a teacher, for I could find no one to teach me. At that time
there was not a single member of my race anywhere near us who could read,
and28 I was too timid to approach any of the white people. In some way,
within a few weeks, I mastered the greater portion of the alphabet. In
all my efforts to learn to read my mother shared fully my ambition, and
sympathized with me and aided me in every way that she could. Though
she was totally ignorant, so far as mere book knowledge was concerned,
she had high ambitions for her children, and a large fund of good,
hard, common sense which seemed to enable her to meet and master every
situation. If I have done anything in life worth attention, I feel
sure that I inherited the disposition from my mother.

In the midst of my struggles and longing for an education, a young
coloured boy who had learned to read in the state of Ohio came to
Malden. As soon as the coloured people found out that he could read, a
newspaper was secured, and at the close of nearly every day’s work
this young man would be surrounded by a group of men and women who
were anxious to hear him read the news contained in the papers. How I
used to envy this man! He seemed to me to be the one young man in all
the world who ought to be satisfied with his attainments.

About this time the question of having some kind of a school opened for
the coloured children in the village began to be discussed by members of the
race. 29 As it would be the first school for Negro children that had
ever been opened in that part of Virginia, it was, of course, to be a
great event, and the discussion excited the widest interest. The most
perplexing question was where to find a teacher. The young man from
Ohio who had learned to read the papers was considered, but his age
was against him. In the midst of the discussion about a teacher,
another young coloured man from Ohio, who had been a soldier, in some
way found his way into town. It was soon learned that he possessed
considerable education, and he was engaged by the coloured people to
teach their first school. As yet no free schools had been started for
coloured people in that section, hence each family agreed to pay a
certain amount per month, with the understanding that the teacher was
to “board ’round”—that is, spend a day with each family. This was
not bad for the teacher, for each family tried to provide the very
best on the day the teacher was to be its guest. I recall that I
looked forward with an anxious appetite to the “teacher’s day” at our
little cabin.

This experience of a whole race beginning to go to school for the
first time, presents one of the most interesting studies that has ever
occurred in connection with the development of any race. Few people
who were not right in the midst of the scenes
can30 form any exact idea of the intense desire which the people of my
race showed for an education. As I have stated, it was a whole race
trying to go to school. Few were too young, and none too old, to make
the attempt to learn. As fast as any kind of teachers could be
secured, not only were day-schools filled, but night-schools as well.
The great ambition of the older people was to try to learn to read the
Bible before they died. With this end in view, men and women who were
fifty or seventy-five years old would often be found in the night-school.
Sunday-schools were formed soon after freedom, but the principal book
studied in the Sunday-school was the spelling-book. Day-school,
night-school, Sunday-school, were always crowded, and often many had to
be turned away for want of room.

The opening of the school in the Kanawha Valley, however, brought to
me one of the keenest disappointments that I ever experienced. I had
been working in a salt-furnace for several months, and my stepfather
had discovered that I had a financial value, and so, when the school
opened, he decided that he could not spare me from my work. This
decision seemed to cloud my every ambition. The disappointment was
made all the more severe by reason of the fact that my place of work
was where I could see the happy children passing to and from school,
mornings31 and afternoons. Despite this disappointment, however, I
determined that I would learn something, anyway. I applied myself with
greater earnestness than ever to the mastering of what was in the
“blue-back” speller.

My mother sympathized with me in my disappointment, and sought to
comfort me in all the ways she could, and to help me find a way to
learn. After a while I succeeded in making arrangements with the
teacher to give me some lessons at night, after the day’s work was
done. These night lessons were so welcome that I think I learned more
at night than the other children did during the day. My own
experiences in the night-school gave me faith in the night-school
idea, with which, in after years, I had to do both at Hampton and
Tuskegee. But my boyish heart was still set upon going to the day-school,
and I let no opportunity slip to push my case. Finally I won,
and was permitted to go to the school in the day for a few months,
with the understanding that I was to rise early in the morning and
work in the furnace till nine o’clock, and return immediately after
school closed in the afternoon for at least two more hours of work.

The schoolhouse was some distance from the furnace, and as I had to work
till nine o’clock, and the school opened at nine, I found myself in a
difficulty. 32 School would always be begun before I reached it, and
sometimes my class had recited. To get around this difficulty I yielded
to a temptation for which most people, I suppose, will condemn me; but
since it is a fact, I might as well state it. I have great faith in
the power and influence of facts. It is seldom that anything is
permanently gained by holding back a fact. There was a large clock in
a little office in the furnace. This clock, of course, all the hundred
or more workmen depended upon to regulate their hours of beginning and
ending the day’s work. I got the idea that the way for me to reach
school on time was to move the clock hands from half-past eight up to
the nine o’clock mark. This I found myself doing morning after
morning, till the furnace “boss” discovered that something was wrong,
and locked the clock in a case. I did not mean to inconvenience
anybody. I simply meant to reach that schoolhouse in time.

When, however, I found myself at the school for the first time, I
also found myself confronted with two other difficulties. In the first
place, I found that all of the other children wore hats or caps on
their heads, and I had neither hat nor cap. In fact, I do not remember
that up to the time of going to school I had ever worn any kind of
covering upon my head, nor do I recall that either I
or33 anybody else had even thought anything about the need of covering
for my head. But, of course, when I saw how all the other boys were
dressed, I began to feel quite uncomfortable. As usual, I put the case
before my mother, and she explained to me that she had no money with
which to buy a “store hat,” which was a rather new institution at that
time among the members of my race and was considered quite the thing
for young and old to own, but that she would find a way to help me out
of the difficulty. She accordingly got two pieces of “homespun”
(jeans) and sewed them together, and I was soon the proud possessor of
my first cap.

The lesson that my mother taught me in this has always remained with
me, and I have tried as best I could to teach it to others. I have
always felt proud, whenever I think of the incident, that my mother
had strength of character enough not to be led into the temptation of
seeming to be that which she was not—of trying to impress my
schoolmates and others with the fact that she was able to buy me a
“store hat” when she was not. I have always felt proud that she
refused to go into debt for that which she did not have the money to
pay for. Since that time I have owned many kinds of caps and hats, but
never one of which I have felt so
proud34 as of the cap made of the two pieces of cloth sewed together by
my mother. I have noted the fact, but without satisfaction, I need not
add, that several of the boys who began their careers with “store
hats” and who were my schoolmates and used to join in the sport that
was made of me because I had only a “homespun” cap, have ended their
careers in the penitentiary, while others are not able now to buy any
kind of hat.

My second difficulty was with regard to my name, or rather a name.
From the time when I could remember anything, I had been called simply
“Booker.” Before going to school it had never occurred to me that it
was needful or appropriate to have an additional name. When I heard
the school-roll called, I noticed that all of the children had at
least two names, and some of them indulged in what seemed to me the
extravagance of having three. I was in deep perplexity, because I knew
that the teacher would demand of me at least two names, and I had only
one. By the time the occasion came for the enrolling of my name, an
idea occurred to me which I thought would make me equal to the
situation; and so, when the teacher asked me what my full name was, I
calmly told him “Booker Washington,” as if I had been called by that
name all my life; and by that name I have
since35 been known. Later in my life I found that my mother had given
me the name of “Booker Taliaferro” soon after I was born, but in some
way that part of my name seemed to disappear and for a long while was
forgotten, but as soon as I found out about it I revived it, and made
my full name “Booker Taliaferro Washington.” I think there are not
many men in our country who have had the privilege of naming
themselves in the way that I have.

More than once I have tried to picture myself in the position of a
boy or man with an honoured and distinguished ancestry which I could
trace back through a period of hundreds of years, and who had not only
inherited a name, but fortune and a proud family homestead; and yet I
have sometimes had the feeling that if I had inherited these, and had
been a member of a more popular race, I should have been inclined to
yield to the temptation of depending upon my ancestry and my colour to
do that for me which I should do for myself. Years ago I resolved that
because I had no ancestry myself I would leave a record of which my
children would be proud, and which might encourage them to still
higher effort.

The world should not pass judgment upon the Negro, and especially the
Negro youth, too quickly
or36 too harshly. The Negro boy has obstacles, discouragements, and
temptations to battle with that are little known to those not situated
as he is. When a white boy undertakes a task, it is taken for granted
that he will succeed. On the other hand, people are usually surprised
if the Negro boy does not fail. In a word, the Negro youth starts out
with the presumption against him.

The influence of ancestry, however, is important in helping forward
any individual or race, if too much reliance is not placed upon it.
Those who constantly direct attention to the Negro youth’s moral
weaknesses, and compare his advancement with that of white youths, do
not consider the influence of the memories which cling about the old
family homesteads. I have no idea, as I have stated elsewhere, who my
grandmother was. I have, or have had, uncles and aunts and cousins,
but I have no knowledge as to where most of them are. My case will
illustrate that of hundreds of thousands of black people in every part
of our country. The very fact that the white boy is conscious that, if
he fails in life, he will disgrace the whole family record, extending
back through many generations, is of tremendous value in helping him
to resist temptations. The fact that the individual has behind and
surrounding him proud family
history37 and connection serves as a stimulus to help him to overcome
obstacles when striving for success.

The time that I was permitted to attend school during the day was
short, and my attendance was irregular. It was not long before I had
to stop attending day-school altogether, and devote all of my time
again to work. I resorted to the night-school again. In fact, the
greater part of the education I secured in my boyhood was gathered
through the night-school after my day’s work was done. I had
difficulty often in securing a satisfactory teacher. Sometimes, after
I had secured some one to teach me at night, I would find, much to my
disappointment, that the teacher knew but little more than I did.
Often I would have to walk several miles at night in order to recite
my night-school lessons. There was never a time in my youth, no matter
how dark and discouraging the days might be, when one resolve did not
continually remain with me, and that was a determination to secure an
education at any cost.

Soon after we moved to West Virginia, my mother adopted into our
family, notwithstanding our poverty, an orphan boy, to whom afterward
we gave the name of James B. Washington. He has ever since remained a
member of the family.

After38 I had worked in the salt-furnace for some time, work was
secured for me in a coal-mine which was operated mainly for the
purpose of securing fuel for the salt-furnace. Work in the coal-mine I
always dreaded. One reason for this was that any one who worked in a
coal-mine was always unclean, at least while at work, and it was a
very hard job to get one’s skin clean after the day’s work was over.
Then it was fully a mile from the opening of the coal-mine to the face
of the coal, and all, of course, was in the blackest darkness. I do
not believe that one ever experiences anywhere else such darkness as
he does in a coal-mine. The mine was divided into a large number of
different “rooms” or departments, and, as I never was able to learn
the location of all these “rooms,” I many times found myself lost in
the mine. To add to the horror of being lost, sometimes my light would
go out, and then, if I did not happen to have a match, I would wander
about in the darkness until by chance I found some one to give me a
light. The work was not only hard, but it was dangerous. There was
always the danger of being blown to pieces by a premature explosion of
powder, or of being crushed by falling slate. Accidents from one or
the other of these causes were frequently occurring, and this kept me
in constant fear. Many children of the
tenderest39 years were compelled then, as is now true I fear, in most
coal-mining districts, to spend a large part of their lives in these
coal-mines, with little opportunity to get an education; and, what is
worse, I have often noted that, as a rule, young boys who begin life
in a coal-mine are often physically and mentally dwarfed. They soon
lose ambition to do anything else than to continue as a coal-miner.

In those days, and later as a young man, I used to try to picture in
my imagination the feelings and ambitions of a white boy with
absolutely no limit placed upon his aspirations and activities. I used
to envy the white boy who had no obstacles placed in the way of his
becoming a Congressman, Governor, Bishop, or President by reason of
the accident of his birth or race. I used to picture the way that I
would act under such circumstances; how I would begin at the bottom
and keep rising until I reached the highest round of success.

In later years, I confess that I do not envy the white boy as I once
did. I have learned that success is to be measured not so much by the
position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which he has
overcome while trying to succeed. Looked at from this standpoint, I almost
reach the conclusion that often the Negro boy’s birth and connection
with40 an unpopular race is an advantage, so far as real life is
concerned. With few exceptions, the Negro youth must work harder and
must perform his task even better than a white youth in order to
secure recognition. But out of the hard and unusual struggle through
which he is compelled to pass, he gets a strength, a confidence, that
one misses whose pathway is comparatively smooth by reason of birth
and race.

From any point of view, I had rather be what I am, a member of the
Negro race, than be able to claim membership with the most favoured of
any other race. I have always been made sad when I have heard members
of any race claiming rights and privileges, or certain badges of
distinction, on the ground simply that they were members of this or
that race, regardless of their own individual worth or attainments. I
have been made to feel sad for such persons because I am conscious of
the fact that mere connection with what is known as a superior race will
not permanently carry an individual forward unless he has individual
worth, and mere connection with what is regarded as an inferior race
will not finally hold an individual back if he possesses intrinsic,
individual merit. Every persecuted individual and race should get much
consolation out of the great human law, which is universal
and41 eternal, that merit, no matter under what skin found, is, in the
long run, recognized and rewarded. This I have said here, not to call
attention to myself as an individual, but to the race to which I am
proud to belong.

CHAPTER III

THE STRUGGLE FOR AN EDUCATION

O

NE day, while at work in the coal-mine, I happened to overhear two
miners talking about a great school for coloured people somewhere in
Virginia. This was the first time that I had ever heard anything about
any kind of school or college that was more pretentious than the
little coloured school in our town.

In the darkness of the mine I noiselessly crept as close as I could
to the two men who were talking. I heard one tell the other that not
only was the school established for the members of my race, but that
opportunities were provided by which poor but worthy students could
work out all or a part of the cost of board, and at the same time be
taught some trade or industry.

As they went on describing the school, it seemed to me that it must
be the greatest place on earth, and not even Heaven presented more
attractions for me at that time than did the Hampton Normal and
Agricultural Institute in Virginia, about which these
men43 were talking. I resolved at once to go to that school, although I
had no idea where it was, or how many miles away, or how I was going
to reach it; I remembered only that I was on fire constantly with one
ambition, and that was to go to Hampton. This thought was with me day
and night.

After hearing of the Hampton Institute, I continued to work for a few
months longer in the coal-mine. While at work there, I heard of a
vacant position in the household of General Lewis Ruffner, the owner
of the salt-furnace and coal-mine. Mrs. Viola Ruffner, the wife of
General Ruffner, was a “Yankee” woman from Vermont. Mrs. Ruffner had a
reputation all through the vicinity for being very strict with her
servants, and especially with the boys who tried to serve her. Few of
them had remained with her more than two or three weeks. They all left
with the same excuse: she was too strict. I decided, however, that I
would rather try Mrs. Ruffner’s house than remain in the coal-mine,
and so my mother applied to her for the vacant position. I was hired
at a salary of $5 per month.

I had heard so much about Mrs. Ruffner’s severity that I was almost
afraid to see her, and trembled when I went into her presence. I had
not lived with her many weeks, however, before I began to understand
her. I soon began to learn
that, 44 first of all, she wanted everything kept clean about her, that
she wanted things done promptly and systematically, and that at the
bottom of everything she wanted absolute honesty and frankness.
Nothing must be sloven or slipshod; every door, every fence, must be
kept in repair.

I cannot now recall how long I lived with Mrs. Ruffner before going
to Hampton, but I think it must have been a year and a half. At any
rate, I here repeat what I have said more than once before, that the
lessons that I learned in the home of Mrs. Ruffner were as valuable to
me as any education I have ever gotten anywhere since. Even to this
day I never see bits of paper scattered around a house or in the
street that I do not want to pick them up at once. I never see a
filthy yard that I do not want to clean it, a paling off of a fence
that I do not want to put it on, an unpainted or unwhitewashed house
that I do not want to paint or whitewash it, or a button off one’s
clothes, or a grease-spot on them or on a floor, that I do not want to
call attention to it.

From fearing Mrs. Ruffner I soon learned to look upon her as one of
my best friends. When she found that she could trust me she did so
implicitly. During the one or two winters that I was with her she
gave me an opportunity to go to
school45 for an hour in the day during a portion of the winter months,
but most of my studying was done at night, sometimes alone, sometimes
under some one whom I could hire to teach me. Mrs. Ruffner always
encouraged and sympathized with me in all my efforts to get an
education. It was while living with her that I began to get together
my first library. I secured a dry-goods box, knocked out one side of
it, put some shelves in it, and began putting into it every kind of
book that I could get my hands upon, and called it my “library.”

Notwithstanding my success at Mrs. Ruffner’s I did not give up the
idea of going to the Hampton Institute. In the fall of 1872 I
determined to make an effort to get there, although, as I have stated,
I had no definite idea of the direction in which Hampton was, or of
what it would cost to go there. I do not think that any one thoroughly
sympathized with me in my ambition to go to Hampton unless it was my
mother, and she was troubled with a grave fear that I was starting out
on a “wild-goose chase.” At any rate, I got only a half-hearted
consent from her that I might start. The small amount of money that I
had earned had been consumed by my stepfather and the remainder of the
family, with the exception of a very few dollars, and so I had very
little with which to buy
clothes46 and pay my travelling expenses. My brother John helped me all
that he could, but of course that was not a great deal, for his work
was in the coal-mine, where he did not earn much, and most of what he
did earn went in the direction of paying the household expenses.

Perhaps the thing that touched and pleased me most in connection with
my starting for Hampton was the interest that many of the older
coloured people took in the matter. They had spent the best days of
their lives in slavery, and hardly expected to live to see the time
when they would see a member of their race leave home to attend a
boarding-school. Some of these older people would give me a nickel,
others a quarter, or a handkerchief.

Finally the great day came, and I started for Hampton. I had only a
small, cheap satchel that contained what few articles of clothing I
could get. My mother at the time was rather weak and broken in health.
I hardly expected to see her again, and thus our parting was all the
more sad. She, however, was very brave through it all. At that time
there were no through trains connecting that part of West Virginia
with eastern Virginia. Trains ran only a portion of the way, and the
remainder of the distance was travelled by stage-coaches.

The47 distance from Malden to Hampton is about five hundred miles. I
had not been away from home many hours before it began to grow
painfully evident that I did not have enough money to pay my fare to
Hampton. One experience I shall long remember. I had been travelling
over the mountains most of the afternoon in an old-fashioned stage-coach,
when, late in the evening, the coach stopped for the night at a
common, unpainted house called a hotel. All the other passengers
except myself were whites. In my ignorance I supposed that the little
hotel existed for the purpose of accommodating the passengers who
travelled on the stage-coach. The difference that the colour of one’s
skin would make I had not thought anything about. After all the other
passengers had been shown rooms and were getting ready for supper, I
shyly presented myself before the man at the desk. It is true I had
practically no money in my pocket with which to pay for bed or food,
but I had hoped in some way to beg my way into the good graces of the
landlord, for at that season in the mountains of Virginia the weather
was cold, and I wanted to get indoors for the night. Without asking as
to whether I had any money, the man at the desk firmly refused to even
consider the matter of providing me with food or lodging. This was
my48 first experience in finding out what the colour of my skin meant.
In some way I managed to keep warm by walking about, and so got
through the night. My whole soul was so bent upon reaching Hampton
that I did not have time to cherish any bitterness toward the
hotel-keeper.

By walking, begging rides both in wagons and in the cars, in some
way, after a number of days, I reached the city of Richmond, Virginia,
about eighty-two miles from Hampton. When I reached there, tired,
hungry, and dirty, it was late in the night. I had never been in a
large city, and this rather added to my misery. When I reached
Richmond, I was completely out of money. I had not a single
acquaintance in the place, and, being unused to city ways, I did not
know where to go. I applied at several places for lodging, but they
all wanted money, and that was what I did not have. Knowing nothing
else better to do, I walked the streets. In doing this I passed by
many food-stands where fried chicken and half-moon apple pies were
piled high and made to present a most tempting appearance. At that
time it seemed to me that I would have promised all that I expected to
possess in the future to have gotten hold of one of those chicken legs
or one of those pies. But I could not get either of these, nor
anything else to eat.

I49 must have walked the streets till after midnight. At last I became
so exhausted that I could walk no longer. I was tired, I was hungry, I
was everything but discouraged. Just about the time when I reached
extreme physical exhaustion, I came upon a portion of a street where
the board sidewalk was considerably elevated. I waited for a few
minutes, till I was sure that no passers-by could see me, and then
crept under the sidewalk and lay for the night upon the ground, with
my satchel of clothing for a pillow. Nearly all night I could hear the
tramp of feet over my head. The next morning I found myself somewhat
refreshed, but I was extremely hungry, because it had been a long time
since I had had sufficient food. As soon as it became light enough for
me to see my surroundings I noticed that I was near a large ship, and
that this ship seemed to be unloading a cargo of pig iron. I went at
once to the vessel and asked the captain to permit me to help unload
the vessel in order to get money for food. The captain, a white man,
who seemed to be kind-hearted, consented. I worked long enough to earn
money for my breakfast, and it seems to me, as I remember it now, to
have been about the best breakfast that I have ever eaten.

My work pleased the captain so well that he told
me50 if I desired I could continue working for a small amount per day.
This I was very glad to do. I continued working on this vessel for a
number of days. After buying food with the small wages I received
there was not much left to add to the amount I must get to pay my way
to Hampton. In order to economize in every way possible, so as to be
sure to reach Hampton in a reasonable time, I continued to sleep under
the same sidewalk that gave me shelter the first night I was in
Richmond. Many years after that the coloured citizens of Richmond very
kindly tendered me a reception at which there must have been two
thousand people present. This reception was held not far from the spot
where I slept the first night I spent in that city, and I must confess
that my mind was more upon the sidewalk that first gave me shelter
than upon the reception, agreeable and cordial as it was.

When I had saved what I considered enough money with which to reach
Hampton, I thanked the captain of the vessel for his kindness, and
started again. Without any unusual occurrence I reached Hampton, with
a surplus of exactly fifty cents with which to begin my education. To
me it had been a long, eventful journey; but the first sight of the
large, three-story, brick school building
seemed51 to have rewarded me for all that I had undergone in order to
reach the place. If the people who gave the money to provide that
building could appreciate the influence the sight of it had upon me,
as well as upon thousands of other youths, they would feel all the
more encouraged to make such gifts. It seemed to me to be the largest
and most beautiful building I had ever seen. The sight of it seemed to
give me new life. I felt that a new kind of existence had now begun—that
life would now have a new meaning. I felt that I had reached the
promised land, and I resolved to let no obstacle prevent me from
putting forth the highest effort to fit myself to accomplish the most
good in the world.

As soon as possible after reaching the grounds of the Hampton
Institute, I presented myself before the head teacher for assignment
to a class. Having been so long without proper food, a bath, and
change of clothing, I did not, of course, make a very favourable
impression upon her, and I could see at once that there were doubts in
her mind about the wisdom of admitting me as a student. I felt that I
could hardly blame her if she got the idea that I was a worthless
loafer or tramp. For some time she did not refuse to admit me, neither
did she decide in my favour, and I continued to
linger52 about her, and to impress her in all the ways I could with my
worthiness. In the meantime I saw her admitting other students, and
that added greatly to my discomfort, for I felt, deep down in my
heart, that I could do as well as they, if I could only get a chance
to show what was in me.

After some hours had passed, the head teacher said to me: “The
adjoining recitation-room needs sweeping. Take the broom and sweep it.”

It occurred to me at once that here was my chance. Never did I
receive an order with more delight. I knew that I could sweep, for
Mrs. Ruffner had thoroughly taught me how to do that when I lived with
her.

I swept the recitation-room three times. Then I got a dusting-cloth
and I dusted it four times. All the woodwork around the walls, every
bench, table, and desk, I went over four times with my dusting-cloth.
Besides, every piece of furniture had been moved and every closet and
corner in the room had been thoroughly cleaned. I had the feeling that
in a large measure my future depended upon the impression I made upon
the teacher in the cleaning of that room. When I was through, I reported to
the head teacher. She was a “Yankee” woman who knew just where to
look for dirt. She went into the room and inspected the floor and closets; then
she53 took her handkerchief and rubbed it on the woodwork about the
walls, and over the table and benches. When she was unable to find one
bit of dirt on the floor, or a particle of dust on any of the
furniture, she quietly remarked, “I guess you will do to enter this
institution.”

I was one of the happiest souls on earth. The sweeping of that room
was my college examination, and never did any youth pass an
examination for entrance into Harvard or Yale that gave him more
genuine satisfaction. I have passed several examinations since then,
but I have always felt that this was the best one I ever passed.

I have spoken of my own experience in entering the Hampton Institute.
Perhaps few, if any, had anything like the same experience that I had,
but about that same period there were hundreds who found their way to
Hampton and other institutions after experiencing something of the
same difficulties that I went through. The young men and women were
determined to secure an education at any cost.

The sweeping of the recitation-room in the manner that I did it seems
to have paved the way for me to get through Hampton. Miss Mary F.
Mackie, the head teacher, offered me a position as janitor. This, of
course, I gladly accepted, because it was a place where I could work
out nearly all the
cost54 of my board. The work was hard and taxing, but I stuck to it. I
had a large number of rooms to care for, and had to work late into the
night, while at the same time I had to rise by four o’clock in the
morning, in order to build the fires and have a little time in which
to prepare my lessons. In all my career at Hampton, and ever since I
have been out in the world, Miss Mary F. Mackie, the head teacher to
whom I have referred, proved one of my strongest and most helpful
friends. Her advice and encouragement were always helpful and
strengthening to me in the darkest hour.

I have spoken of the impression that was made upon me by the
buildings and general appearance of the Hampton Institute, but I have
not spoken of that which made the greatest and most lasting impression
upon me, and that was a great man—the noblest, rarest human being
that it has ever been my privilege to meet. I refer to the late
General Samuel C. Armstrong.

It has been my fortune to meet personally many of what are called
great characters, both in Europe and America, but I do not hesitate to
say that I never met any man who, in my estimation, was the equal of
General Armstrong. Fresh from the degrading influences of the slave
plantation and the coal-mines, it was a rare privilege for me to be
permitted55 to come into direct contact with such a character as
General Armstrong. I shall always remember that the first time I went
into his presence he made the impression upon me of being a perfect
man; I was made to feel that there was something about him that was
superhuman. It was my privilege to know the General personally from
the time I entered Hampton till he died, and the more I saw of him the
greater he grew in my estimation. One might have removed from Hampton
all the buildings, class-rooms, teachers, and industries, and given
the men and women there the opportunity of coming into daily contact
with General Armstrong, and that alone would have been a liberal
education. The older I grow, the more I am convinced that there is no
education which one can get from books and costly apparatus that is equal
to that which can be gotten from contact with great men and women.
Instead of studying books so constantly, how I wish that our schools
and colleges might learn to study men and things!

General Armstrong spent two of the last six months of his life
in my home at Tuskegee. At that time he was paralyzed to the
extent that he had lost control of his body and voice in a very
large degree. Notwithstanding his affliction, he worked almost
constantly night and day for the cause to
which56 he had given his life. I never saw a man who so completely lost
sight of himself. I do not believe he ever had a selfish thought. He
was just as happy in trying to assist some other institution in the
South as he was when working for Hampton. Although he fought the
Southern white man in the Civil War, I never heard him utter a bitter
word against him afterward. On the other hand, he was constantly
seeking to find ways by which he could be of service to the Southern
whites.

It would be difficult to describe the hold that he had upon the
students at Hampton, or the faith they had in him. In fact, he was
worshipped by his students. It never occurred to me that General
Armstrong could fail in anything that he undertook. There is almost no
request that he could have made that would not have been complied
with. When he was a guest at my home in Alabama, and was so badly
paralyzed that he had to be wheeled about in an invalid’s chair, I
recall that one of the General’s former students had occasion to push
his chair up a long, steep hill that taxed his strength to the utmost.
When the top of the hill was reached, the former pupil, with a glow of
happiness on his face, exclaimed, “I am so glad that I have been
permitted to do something that was real hard for the General before he
dies!” While I was a student at
Hampton, 57 the dormitories became so crowded that it was impossible to find room
for all who wanted to be admitted. In order to help remedy the
difficulty, the General conceived the plan of putting up tents to be
used as rooms. As soon as it became known that General Armstrong would
be pleased if some of the older students would live in the tents
during the winter, nearly every student in school volunteered to go.

I was one of the volunteers. The winter that we spent in those tents
was an intensely cold one, and we suffered severely—how much I am
sure General Armstrong never knew, because we made no complaints. It
was enough for us to know that we were pleasing General Armstrong, and
that we were making it possible for an additional number of students
to secure an education. More than once, during a cold night, when a
stiff gale would be blowing, our tent was lifted bodily, and we would
find ourselves in the open air. The General would usually pay a visit
to the tents early in the morning, and his earnest, cheerful,
encouraging voice would dispel any feeling of despondency.

I have spoken of my admiration for General Armstrong, and yet he was
but a type of that Christlike body of men and women who went into the
Negro schools at the close of the war by the
hundreds58 to assist in lifting up my race. The history the world fails
to show a higher, purer, and more unselfish class of men and women
than those who found their way into those Negro schools.

Life at Hampton was a constant revelation to me; was constantly
taking me into a new world. The matter of having meals at regular
hours, of eating on a tablecloth, using a napkin, the use of the bath-tub
and of the tooth-brush, as well as the use of sheets upon the bed,
were all new to me.

I sometimes feel that almost the most valuable lesson I got at the
Hampton Institute was in the use and value of the bath. I learned
there for the first time some of its value, not only in keeping the
body healthy, but in inspiring self-respect and promoting virtue. In
all my travels in the South and elsewhere since leaving Hampton I have
always in some way sought my daily bath. To get it sometimes when I
have been the guest of my own people in a single-roomed cabin has not
always been easy to do, except by slipping away to some stream in the
woods. I have always tried to teach my people that some provision for
bathing should be a part of every house.

For some time, while a student at Hampton, I possessed but a single pair
of socks, but when I had worn these till they became soiled, I would wash
them59 at night and hang them by the fire to dry, so that I might wear
them again the next morning.

The charge for my board at Hampton was ten dollars per month. I was
expected to pay a part of this in cash and to work out the remainder.
To meet this cash payment, as I have stated, I had just fifty cents
when I reached the institution. Aside from a very few dollars that my
brother John was able to send me once in a while, I had no money with
which to pay my board. I was determined from the first to make my work
as janitor so valuable that my services would be indispensable. This I
succeeded in doing to such an extent that I was soon informed that I
would be allowed the full cost of my board in return for my work. The
cost of tuition was seventy dollars a year. This, of course, was
wholly beyond my ability to provide. If I had been compelled to pay
the seventy dollars for tuition, in addition to providing for my
board, I would have been compelled to leave the Hampton school.
General Armstrong, however, very kindly got Mr. S. Griffitts Morgan,
of New Bedford, Mass., to defray the cost of my tuition during the
whole time that I was at Hampton. After I finished the course at
Hampton and had entered upon my lifework at Tuskegee, I had the
pleasure of visiting Mr. Morgan several times.

After60 having been for a while at Hampton, I found myself in
difficulty because I did not have books and clothing. Usually,
however, I got around the trouble about books by borrowing from those
who were more fortunate than myself. As to clothes, when I reached
Hampton I had practically nothing. Everything that I possessed was in
a small hand satchel. My anxiety about clothing was increased because
of the fact that General Armstrong made a personal inspection of the
young men in ranks, to see that their clothes were clean. Shoes had to
be polished, there must be no buttons off the clothing, and no grease-spots.
To wear one suit of clothes continually, while at work and in
the schoolroom, and at the same time keep it clean, was rather a hard
problem for me to solve. In some way I managed to get on till the
teachers learned that I was in earnest and meant to succeed, and then
some of them were kind enough to see that I was partly supplied with
second-hand clothing that had been sent in barrels from the North.
These barrels proved a blessing to hundreds of poor but deserving
students. Without them I question whether I should ever have gotten
through Hampton.

When I first went to Hampton I do not recall that I had ever slept in
a bed that had two sheets
on61 it. In those days there were not many buildings there, and room
was very precious. There were seven other boys in the same room with
me; most of them, however, students who had been there for some time.
The sheets were quite a puzzle to me. The first night I slept under
both of them, and the second night I slept on top of both of them; but
by watching the other boys I learned my lesson in this, and have been
trying to follow it ever since and to teach it to others.

I was among the youngest of the students who were in Hampton at that
time. Most of the students were men and women—some as old as forty
years of age. As I now recall the scene of my first year, I do not
believe that one often has the opportunity of coming into contact with
three or four hundred men and women who were so tremendously in
earnest as these men and women were. Every hour was occupied in study
or work. Nearly all had had enough actual contact with the world to
teach them the need of education. Many of the older ones were, of
course, too old to master the text-books very thoroughly, and it was
often sad to watch their struggles; but they made up in earnestness
much of what they lacked in books. Many of them were as poor as I was,
and, besides having to wrestle with their books, they had to
struggle62 with a poverty which prevented their having the necessities
of life. Many of them had aged parents who were dependent upon them,
and some of them were men who had wives whose support in some way they
had to provide for.

The great and prevailing idea that seemed to take possession of every
one was to prepare himself to lift up the people at his home. No one
seemed to think of himself. And the officers and teachers, what a rare
set of human beings they were! They worked for the students night and
day, in season and out of season. They seemed happy only when they
were helping the students in some manner. Whenever it is written—and
I hope it will be—the part that the Yankee teachers played in the
education of the Negroes immediately after the war will make one of
the most thrilling parts of the history of this country. The time is
not far distant when the whole South will appreciate this service in a
way that it has not yet been able to do.

CHAPTER IV

HELPING OTHERS

A

T the end of my first year at Hampton I was confronted with another
difficulty. Most of the students went home to spend their vacation. I
had no money with which to go home, but I had to go somewhere. In
those days very few students were permitted to remain at the school
during vacation. It made me feel very sad and homesick to see the
other students preparing to leave and starting for home. I not only
had no money with which to go home, but I had none with which to go
anywhere.

In some way, however, I had gotten hold of an extra, second-hand coat
which I thought was a pretty valuable coat. This I decided to sell, in
order to get a little money for travelling expenses. I had a good deal
of boyish pride, and I tried to hide, as far as I could, from the
other students the fact that I had no money and nowhere to go. I made
it known to a few people in the town of Hampton that I had this coat
to sell, and, after a
good64 deal of persuading, one coloured man promised to come to my room
to look the coat over and consider the matter of buying it. This
cheered my drooping spirits considerably. Early the next morning my
prospective customer appeared. After looking the garment over
carefully, he asked me how much I wanted for it. I told him I thought
it was worth three dollars. He seemed to agree with me as to price,
but remarked in the most matter-of-fact way: “I tell you what I will
do; I will take the coat, and I will pay you five cents, cash down,
and pay you the rest of the money just as soon as I can get it.” It is
not hard to imagine what my feelings were at the time.

With this disappointment I gave up all hope of getting out of the
town of Hampton for my vacation work. I wanted very much to go where I
might secure work that would at least pay me enough to purchase some
much-needed clothing and other necessities. In a few days practically
all the students and teachers had left for their homes, and this
served to depress my spirits even more.

After trying for several days in and near the town of Hampton, I
finally secured work in a restaurant at Fortress Monroe. The wages,
however, were very little more than my board. At night, and between
meals, I found considerable time for study
and65 reading; and in this direction I improved myself very much during
the summer.

When I left school at the end of my first year, I owed the
institution sixteen dollars that I had not been able to work out. It
was my greatest ambition during the summer to save money enough with
which to pay this debt. I felt that this was a debt of honour, and
that I could hardly bring myself to the point of even trying to enter
school again till it was paid. I economized in every way that I could
think of—did my own washing, and went without necessary
garments—but still I found my summer vacation ending and
I did not have the sixteen dollars.

One day, during the last week of my stay in the restaurant, I found
under one of the tables a crisp, new ten-dollar bill. I could hardly
contain myself, I was so happy. As it was not my place of business I
felt it to be the proper thing to show the money to the proprietor.
This I did. He seemed as glad as I was, but he coolly explained to me
that, as it was his place of business, he had a right to keep the
money, and he proceeded to do so. This, I confess, was another pretty
hard blow to me. I will not say that I became discouraged, for as I
now look back over my life I do not recall that I ever became
discouraged over anything that I set
out66 to accomplish. I have begun everything with the idea that I could
succeed, and I never had much patience with the multitudes of people
who are always ready to explain why one cannot succeed. I have always
had a high regard for the man who could tell me how to succeed. I
determined to face the situation just as it was. At the end of the
week I went to the treasurer of the Hampton Institute, General J. F.
B. Marshall, and told him frankly my condition. To my gratification he
told me that I could reënter the institution, and that he would trust
me to pay the debt when I could. During the second year I continued to
work as a janitor.

The education that I received at Hampton out of the text-books was
but a small part of what I learned there. One of the things that
impressed itself upon me deeply, the second year, was the
unselfishness of the teachers. It was hard for me to understand how
any individuals could bring themselves to the point where they could
be so happy in working for others. Before the end of the year, I think
I began learning that those who are happiest are those who do the most
for others. This lesson I have tried to carry with me ever since.

I also learned a valuable lesson at Hampton by coming into contact with
the best breeds of live stock and fowls. No student, I think, who has had
the67 opportunity of doing this could go out into the world and content
himself with the poorest grades.

Perhaps the most valuable thing that I got out of my second year was
an understanding of the use and value of the Bible. Miss Nathalie
Lord, one of the teachers, from Portland, Me., taught me how to use
and love the Bible. Before this I had never cared a great deal about
it, but now I learned to love to read the Bible, not only for the
spiritual help which it gives, but on account of it as literature. The
lessons taught me in this respect took such a hold upon me that at the
present time, when I am at home, no matter how busy I am, I always
make it a rule to read a chapter or a portion of a chapter in the
morning, before beginning the work of the day.

Whatever ability I may have as a public speaker I owe in a measure to
Miss Lord. When she found out that I had some inclination in this
direction, she gave me private lessons in the matter of breathing,
emphasis, and articulation. Simply to be able to talk in public for
the sake of talking has never had the least attraction for me. In
fact, I consider that there is nothing so empty and unsatisfactory as
mere abstract public speaking; but from my early childhood I have had
a desire to do something to make the world better, and then to be able
to speak to the world about that thing.

The68 debating societies at Hampton were a constant source of delight
to me. These were held on Saturday evening; and during my whole life
at Hampton I do not recall that I missed a single meeting. I not only
attended the weekly debating society, but was instrumental in
organizing an additional society. I noticed that between the time when
supper was over and the time to begin evening study there were about
twenty minutes which the young men usually spent in idle gossip. About
twenty of us formed a society for the purpose of utilizing this time
in debate or in practice in public speaking. Few persons ever derived
more happiness or benefit from the use of twenty minutes of time than
we did in this way.

At the end of my second year at Hampton, by the help of some money
sent me by my mother and brother John, supplemented by a small gift
from one of the teachers at Hampton, I was enabled to return to my
home in Malden, West Virginia, to spend my vacation. When I reached
home I found that the salt-furnaces were not running, and that the
coal-mine was not being operated on account of the miners being out on
a “strike.” This was something which, it seemed, usually occurred
whenever the men got two or three months ahead in their savings.
During the strike, of course, they
spent69 all that they had saved, and would often return to work in debt
at the same wages, or would move to another mine at considerable
expense. In either case, my observations convinced me that the miners
were worse off at the end of a strike. Before the days of strikes in
that section of the country, I knew miners who had considerable money
in the bank, but as soon as the professional labour agitators got
control, the savings of even the more thrifty ones began disappearing.

My mother and the other members of the family were, of course, much
rejoiced to see me and to note the improvement that I had made during
my two years’ absence. The rejoicing on the part of all classes of the
coloured people, and especially the older ones, over my return, was
almost pathetic. I had to pay a visit to each family and take a meal
with each, and at each place tell the story of my experiences at
Hampton. In addition to this I had to speak before the church and
Sunday-school, and at various other places. The thing that I was most
in search of, though, work, I could not find. There was no work on
account of the strike. I spent nearly the whole of the first month of
my vacation in an effort to find something to do by which I could earn
money to pay my way back to Hampton and save a little money to use
after reaching there.

Toward70 the end of the first month, I went to a place a considerable
distance from my home, to try to find employment. I did not succeed,
and it was night before I got started on my return. When I had gotten
within a mile or so of my home I was so completely tired out that I
could not walk any farther, and I went into an old, abandoned house to
spend the remainder of the night. About three o’clock in the
morning my brother John found me asleep in this house, and broke to
me, as gently as he could, the sad news that our dear mother had died
during the night.

This seemed to me the saddest and blankest moment in my life. For
several years my mother had not been in good health, but I had no
idea, when I parted from her the previous day, that I should never see
her alive again. Besides that, I had always had an intense desire to
be with her when she did pass away. One of the chief ambitions which
spurred me on at Hampton was that I might be able to get to be in a
position in which I could better make my mother comfortable and happy.
She had so often expressed the wish that she might be permitted to live
to see her children educated and started out into the world.

In a very short time after the death of my mother our little home was
in confusion. My
sister71 Amanda, although she tried to do the best she could, was too
young to know anything about keeping house, and my stepfather was not
able to hire a housekeeper. Sometimes we had food cooked for us, and
sometimes we did not. I remember that more than once a can of tomatoes
and some crackers constituted a meal. Our clothing went uncared for,
and everything about our home was soon in a tumble-down condition. It
seems to me that this was the most dismal period of my life.

My good friend Mrs. Ruffner, to whom I have already referred, always
made me welcome at her home, and assisted me in many ways during this
trying period. Before the end of the vacation she gave me some work,
and this, together with work in a coal-mine at some distance from my
home, enabled me to earn a little money.

At one time it looked as if I would have to give up the idea of
returning to Hampton, but my heart was so set on returning that I
determined not to give up going back without a struggle. I was very
anxious to secure some clothes for the winter, but in this I was
disappointed, except for a few garments which my brother John secured
for me. Notwithstanding my need of money and clothing, I was very
happy in the fact that I had secured enough money to pay my travelling
expenses back to Hampton.
Once72 there, I knew that I could make myself so useful as a janitor
that I could in some way get through the school year.

Three weeks before the time for the opening of the term at Hampton, I
was pleasantly surprised to receive a letter from my good friend Miss
Mary F. Mackie, the lady principal, asking me to return to Hampton two
weeks before the opening of the school, in order that I might assist
her in cleaning the buildings and getting things in order for the new
school year. This was just the opportunity I wanted. It gave me a
chance to secure a credit in the treasurer’s office. I started for
Hampton at once.

During these two weeks I was taught a lesson which I shall never
forget. Miss Mackie was a member of one of the oldest and most
cultured families of the North, and yet for two weeks she worked by my
side cleaning windows, dusting rooms, putting beds in order, and what
not. She felt that things would not be in condition for the opening of
school unless every window-pane was perfectly clean, and she took the
greatest satisfaction in helping to clean them herself. The work which
I have described she did every year that I was at Hampton.

It was hard for me at this time to understand how a woman of her
education and social standing could take such delight in performing
such service, in order
to73 assist in the elevation of an unfortunate race. Ever since then I
have had no patience with any school for my race in the South which
did not teach its students the dignity of labour.

During my last year at Hampton every minute of my time that was not
occupied with my duties as janitor was devoted to hard study. I was
determined, if possible, to make such a record in my class as would
cause me to be placed on the “honour roll” of Commencement speakers.
This I was successful in doing. It was June of 1875 when I finished
the regular course of study at Hampton. The greatest benefits that I
got out of my life at the Hampton Institute, perhaps, may be
classified under two heads:—

First was contact with a great man, General S. C. Armstrong, who, I
repeat, was, in my opinion, the rarest, strongest, and most beautiful
character that it has ever been my privilege to meet.

Second, at Hampton, for the first time, I learned what education was
expected to do for an individual. Before going there I had a good deal
of the then rather prevalent idea among our people that to secure an
education meant to have a good, easy time, free from all necessity for
manual labour. At Hampton I not only learned that it was not a
disgrace to labour, but learned to love labour, not alone for its
financial74 value, but for labour’s own sake and for the independence
and self-reliance which the ability to do something which the world
wants done brings. At that institution I got my first taste of what it
meant to live a life of unselfishness, my first knowledge of the fact
that the happiest individuals are those who do the most to make others
useful and happy.

I was completely out of money when I graduated. In company with other
Hampton students, I secured a place as a table waiter in a summer
hotel in Connecticut, and managed to borrow enough money with which to
get there. I had not been in this hotel long before I found out that I
knew practically nothing about waiting on a hotel table. The head
waiter, however, supposed that I was an accomplished waiter. He soon
gave me charge of a table at which there sat four or five wealthy and
rather aristocratic people. My ignorance of how to wait upon them was
so apparent that they scolded me in such a severe manner that I became
frightened and left their table, leaving them sitting there without
food. As a result of this I was reduced from the position of waiter to
that of a dish-carrier.

But I determined to learn the business of waiting, and did so within a few
weeks and was restored to my former position. I have had the satisfaction
of75 being a guest in this hotel several times since I was a waiter
there.

At the close of the hotel season I returned to my former home in
Malden, and was elected to teach the coloured school at that place.
This was the beginning of one of the happiest periods of my life. I
now felt that I had the opportunity to help the people of my home town
to a higher life. I felt from the first that mere book education was
not all that the young people of that town needed. I began my work at
eight o’clock in the morning, and, as a rule, it did not end until ten
o’clock at night. In addition to the usual routine of teaching, I
taught the pupils to comb their hair, and to keep their hands and
faces clean, as well as their clothing. I gave special attention to
teaching them the proper use of the tooth-brush and the bath. In all
my teaching I have watched carefully the influence of the tooth-brush,
and I am convinced that there are few single agencies of civilization
that are more far-reaching.

There were so many of the older boys and girls in the town, as well
as men and women, who had to work in the daytime but still were craving
an opportunity for some education, that I soon opened a night-school.
From the first, this was crowded every night, being about as
large as the school that I taught in the day. The efforts of some of
the76 men and women, who in many cases were over fifty years of age, to
learn, were in some cases very pathetic.

My day and night school work was not all that I undertook. I
established a small reading-room and a debating society. On Sundays I
taught two Sunday-schools, one in the town of Malden in the afternoon,
and the other in the morning at a place three miles distant from
Malden. In addition to this, I gave private lessons to several young
men whom I was fitting to send to the Hampton Institute. Without
regard to pay and with little thought of it, I taught any one who
wanted to learn anything that I could teach him. I was supremely happy
in the opportunity of being able to assist somebody else. I did
receive, however, a small salary from the public fund, for my work as
a public-school teacher.

During the time that I was a student at Hampton my older brother,
John, not only assisted me all that he could, but worked all of the
time in the coal-mines in order to support the family. He willingly
neglected his own education that he might help me. It was my earnest
wish to help him to prepare to enter Hampton, and to save money to
assist him in his expenses there. Both of these objects I was
successful in accomplishing. In three years my
brother77 finished the course at Hampton, and he is now holding the
important position of Superintendent of Industries at Tuskegee. When
he returned from Hampton, we both combined our efforts and savings to
send our adopted brother, James, through the Hampton Institute. This
we succeeded in doing, and he is now the postmaster at the Tuskegee
Institute. The year 1877, which was my second year of teaching in
Malden, I spent very much as I did the first.

It was while my home was at Malden that what was known as the “Ku
Klux Klan” was in the height of its activity. The “Ku Klux” were bands
of men who had joined themselves together for the purpose of
regulating the conduct of the coloured people, especially with the
object of preventing the members of the race from exercising any
influence in politics. They corresponded somewhat to the “patrollers”
of whom I used to hear a great deal during the days of slavery, when I
was a small boy. The “patrollers” were bands of white men—usually
young men—who were organized largely for the purpose of regulating
the conduct of the slaves at night in such matters as preventing the
slaves from going from one plantation to another without passes, and for
preventing them from holding any kind of meetings without permission and
without78 the presence at these meetings of at least one white man.

Like the “patrollers” the “Ku Klux” operated almost wholly at night.
They were, however, more cruel than the “patrollers.” Their objects,
in the main, were to crush out the political aspirations of the
Negroes, but they did not confine themselves to this, because
schoolhouses as well as churches were burned by them, and many
innocent persons were made to suffer. During this period not a few
coloured people lost their lives.

As a young man, the acts of these lawless bands made a great
impression upon me. I saw one open battle take place at Malden between
some of the coloured and white people. There must have been not far
from a hundred persons engaged on each side; many on both sides were
seriously injured, among them being General Lewis Ruffner, the husband
of my friend Mrs. Viola Ruffner. General Ruffner tried to defend the
coloured people, and for this he was knocked down and so seriously
wounded that he never completely recovered. It seemed to me as I
watched this struggle between members of the two races, that there was
no hope for our people in this country. The “Ku Klux” period was, I
think, the darkest part of the Reconstruction days.

I have referred to this unpleasant part of the
history79 of the South simply for the purpose of calling attention to
the great change that has taken place since the days of the “Ku Klux.”
To-day there are no such organizations in the South, and the fact that
such ever existed is almost forgotten by both races. There are few
places in the South now where public sentiment would permit such
organizations to exist.

CHAPTER V

THE RECONSTRUCTION PERIOD

T

HE years from 1867 to 1878 I think may be called the period of
Reconstruction. This included the time that I spent as a student at
Hampton and as a teacher in West Virginia. During the whole of the
Reconstruction period two ideas were constantly agitating the minds of
the coloured people, or, at least, the minds of a large part of the
race. One of these was the craze for Greek and Latin learning, and the
other was a desire to hold office.

It could not have been expected that a people who had spent
generations in slavery, and before that generations in the darkest
heathenism, could at first form any proper conception of what an
education meant. In every part of the South, during the Reconstruction
period, schools, both day and night, were filled to overflowing with
people of all ages and conditions, some being as far along in age as
sixty and seventy years. The ambition to secure an education was most
praiseworthy and encouraging. The
idea, 81 however, was too prevalent that, as soon as one secured a
little education, in some unexplainable way he would be free from most
of the hardships of the world, and, at any rate, could live without
manual labour. There was a further feeling that a knowledge, however
little, of the Greek and Latin languages would make one a very
superior human being, something bordering almost on the supernatural.
I remember that the first coloured man whom I saw who knew something
about foreign languages impressed me at that time as being a man of
all others to be envied.

Naturally, most of our people who received some little education
became teachers or preachers. While among these two classes there were
many capable, earnest, godly men and women, still a large proportion
took up teaching or preaching as an easy way to make a living. Many
became teachers who could do little more than write their names. I
remember there came into our neighbourhood one of this class, who was
in search of a school to teach, and the question arose while he was
there as to the shape of the earth and how he would teach the children
concerning this subject. He explained his position in the matter by
saying that he was prepared to teach that the earth was either flat or
round, according to the preference of a majority of his patrons.

The ministry was the profession that suffered
most82—and still suffers, though there has been great
improvement—on account of not only ignorant but in many cases immoral men who
claimed that they were “called to preach.” In the earlier days of
freedom almost every coloured man who learned to read would receive “a
call to preach” within a few days after he began reading. At my home
in West Virginia the process of being called to the ministry was a
very interesting one. Usually the “call” came when the individual was
sitting in church. Without warning the one called would fall upon the
floor as if struck by a bullet, and would lie there for hours,
speechless and motionless. Then the news would spread all through the
neighbourhood that this individual had received a “call.” If he were
inclined to resist the summons, he would fall or be made to fall a
second or third time. In the end he always yielded to the call. While
I wanted an education badly, I confess that in my youth I had a fear
that when I had learned to read and write well I would receive one of
these “calls”; but, for some reason, my call never came.

When we add the number of wholly ignorant men who preached or
“exhorted” to that of those who possessed something of an education,
it can be seen at a glance that the supply of ministers was large. In
fact, some time ago I knew a certain church that
had83 a total membership of about two hundred, and eighteen of that
number were ministers. But, I repeat, in many communities in the South
the character of the ministry is being improved, and I believe that
within the next two or three decades a very large proportion of the
unworthy ones will have disappeared. The “calls” to preach, I am glad
to say, are not nearly so numerous now as they were formerly, and the
calls to some industrial occupation are growing more numerous. The
improvement that has taken place in the character of the teachers is
even more marked than in the case of the ministers.

During the whole of the Reconstruction period our people throughout
the South looked to the Federal Government for everything, very much
as a child looks to its mother. This was not unnatural. The central
government gave them freedom, and the whole Nation had been enriched
for more than two centuries by the labour of the Negro. Even as a
youth, and later in manhood, I had the feeling that it was cruelly
wrong in the central government, at the beginning of our freedom, to
fail to make some provision for the general education of our people in
addition to what the states might do, so that the people would be the
better prepared for the duties of citizenship.

It is easy to find fault, to remark what might have
been84 done, and perhaps, after all, and under all the circumstances,
those in charge of the conduct of affairs did the only thing that
could be done at the time. Still, as I look back now over the entire
period of our freedom, I cannot help feeling that it would have been
wiser if some plan could have been put in operation which would have
made the possession of a certain amount of education or property, or
both, a test for the exercise of the franchise, and a way provided by
which this test should be made to apply honestly and squarely to both
the white and black races.

Though I was but little more than a youth during the period of
Reconstruction, I had the feeling that mistakes were being made, and
that things could not remain in the condition that they were in then
very long. I felt that the Reconstruction policy, so far as it related
to my race, was in a large measure on a false foundation, was
artificial and forced. In many cases it seemed to me that the
ignorance of my race was being used as a tool with which to help white
men into office, and that there was an element in the North which
wanted to punish the Southern white men by forcing the Negro into
positions over the heads of the Southern whites. I felt that the Negro
would be the one to suffer for this in the end. Besides, the general
political agitation drew
the85 attention of our people away from the more fundamental matters of
perfecting themselves in the industries at their doors and in securing
property.

The temptations to enter political life were so alluring that I came
very near yielding to them at one time, but I was kept from doing so
by the feeling that I would be helping in a more substantial way by
assisting in the laying of the foundation of the race through a
generous education of the hand, head, and heart. I saw coloured men
who were members of the state legislatures, and county officers, who,
in some cases, could not read or write, and whose morals were as weak
as their education. Not long ago, when passing through the streets of
a certain city in the South, I heard some brick-masons calling out,
from the top of a two-story brick building on which they were working,
for the “Governor” to “hurry up and bring up some more bricks.”
Several times I heard the command, “Hurry up, Governor!” “Hurry up,
Governor!” My curiosity was aroused to such an extent that I made
inquiry as to who the “Governor” was, and soon found that
he was a coloured man who at one time had held the position of
Lieutenant-Governor of his state.

But not all the coloured people who were in office during
Reconstruction were unworthy of their positions, by any means. Some of
them, like the
late86 Senator B. K. Bruce, Governor Pinchback, and many others, were
strong, upright, useful men. Neither were all the class designated as
carpetbaggers dishonourable men. Some of them, like ex-Governor
Bullock, of Georgia, were men of high character and usefulness.

Of course the coloured people, so largely without education, and
wholly without experience in government, made tremendous mistakes,
just as any people similarly situated would have done. Many of the
Southern whites have a feeling that, if the Negro is permitted to
exercise his political rights now to any degree, the mistakes of the
Reconstruction period will repeat themselves. I do not think this
would be true, because the Negro is a much stronger and wiser man than
he was thirty-five years ago, and he is fast learning the lesson that
he cannot afford to act in a manner that will alienate his Southern
white neighbours from him. More and more I am convinced that the final
solution of the political end of our race problem will be for each
state that finds it necessary to change the law bearing upon the
franchise to make the law apply with absolute honesty, and without
opportunity for double dealing or evasion, to both races alike. Any
other course my daily observation in the South convinces me, will be
unjust to the Negro, unjust
to87 the white man, and unfair to the rest of the states in the Union,
and will be, like slavery, a sin that at some time we shall have to
pay for.

In the fall of 1878, after having taught school in Malden for two
years, and after I had succeeded in preparing several of the young men
and women, besides my two brothers, to enter the Hampton Institute, I
decided to spend some months in study at Washington, D.C. I remained
there for eight months. I derived a great deal of benefit from the
studies which I pursued, and I came into contact with some strong men
and women. At the institution I attended there was no industrial
training given to the students, and I had an opportunity of comparing
the influence of an institution with no industrial training with that
of one like the Hampton Institute, that emphasized the industries. At
this school I found the students, in most cases, had more money, were
better dressed, wore the latest style of all manner of clothing, and
in some cases were more brilliant mentally. At Hampton it was a
standing rule that, while the institution would be responsible for
securing some one to pay the tuition for the students, the men and
women themselves must provide for their own board, books, clothing,
and room wholly by work, or partly by work and partly in cash. At the
institution at which I now was, I
found88 that a large proportion of the students by some means had their
personal expenses paid for them. At Hampton the student was constantly
making the effort through the industries to help himself, and that
very effort was of immense value in character-building. The students
at the other school seemed to be less self-dependent. They seemed to
give more attention to mere outward appearances. In a word, they did
not appear to me to be beginning at the bottom, on a real, solid
foundation, to the extent that they were at Hampton. They knew more
about Latin and Greek when they left school, but they seemed to know
less about life and its conditions as they would meet it at their
homes. Having lived for a number of years in the midst of comfortable
surroundings, they were not as much inclined as the Hampton students
to go into the country districts of the South, where there was little
of comfort, to take up work for our people, and they were more
inclined to yield to the temptation to become hotel waiters and
Pullman-car porters as their life-work.

During the time I was a student in Washington the city was crowded
with coloured people, many of whom had recently come from the South. A
large proportion of these people had been drawn to Washington because
they felt that they could lead
a89 life of ease there. Others had secured minor government positions,
and still another large class was there in the hope of securing
Federal positions. A number of coloured men—some of them very strong
and brilliant—were in the House of Representatives at that time, and
one, the Hon. B. K. Bruce, was in the Senate. All this tended to make
Washington an attractive place for members of the coloured race. Then,
too, they knew that at all times they could have the protection of the
law in the District of Columbia. The public schools in Washington for
coloured people were better then than they were elsewhere. I took
great interest in studying the life of our people there closely at
that time. I found that while among them there was a large element of
substantial, worthy citizens, there was also a superficiality about
the life of a large class that greatly alarmed me. I saw young
coloured men who were not earning more than four dollars a week spend
two dollars or more for a buggy on Sunday to ride up and down
Pennsylvania Avenue in, in order that they might try to convince the
world that they were worth thousands. I saw other young men who
received seventy-five or one hundred dollars per month from the
Government, who were in debt at the end of every month. I saw men who
but a few months previous were members
of90 Congress, then without employment and in poverty. Among a large
class there seemed to be a dependence upon the Government for every
conceivable thing. The members of this class had little ambition to
create a position for themselves, but wanted the Federal officials to
create one for them. How many times I wished then, and have often
wished since, that by some power of magic I might remove the great
bulk of these people into the country districts and plant them upon
the soil, upon the solid and never deceptive foundation of Mother
Nature, where all nations and races that have ever succeeded have
gotten their start,—a start that at first may be slow and toilsome,
but one that nevertheless is real.

In Washington I saw girls whose mothers were earning their living by
laundrying. These girls were taught by their mothers, in rather a
crude way it is true, the industry of laundrying. Later, these girls
entered the public schools and remained there perhaps six or eight
years. When the public-school course was finally finished, they wanted
more costly dresses, more costly hats and shoes. In a word, while
their wants had been increased, their ability to supply their wants
had not been increased in the same degree. On the other hand, their
six or eight years of book education had weaned them
away91 from the occupation of their mothers. The result of this was in
too many cases that the girls went to the bad. I often thought how
much wiser it would have been to give these girls the same amount of
mental training—and I favour any kind of training, whether in the
languages or mathematics, that gives strength and culture to the mind—but
at the same time to give them the most thorough training in the
latest and best methods of laundrying and other kindred occupations.

CHAPTER VI

BLACK RACE AND RED RACE

D

URING the year that I spent in Washington, and for some little time
before this, there had been considerable agitation in the state of
West Virginia over the question of moving the capital of the state
from Wheeling to some other central point. As a result of this, the
Legislature designated three cities to be voted upon by the citizens
of the state as the permanent seat of government. Among these cities
was Charleston, only five miles from Malden, my home. At the close of
my school year in Washington I was very pleasantly surprised to
receive, from a committee of white people in Charleston, an invitation
to canvass the state in the interests of that city. This invitation I
accepted, and spent nearly three months in speaking in various parts
of the state. Charleston was successful in winning the prize, and is
now the permanent seat of government.

The reputation that I made as a speaker during this campaign induced
a number of persons to
make93 an earnest effort to get me to enter political life, but I
refused, still believing that I could find other service which would
prove of more permanent value to my race. Even then I had a strong
feeling that what our people most needed was to get a foundation in
education, industry, and property, and for this I felt that they could
better afford to strive than for political preferment. As for my
individual self, it appeared to me to be reasonably certain that I
could succeed in political life, but I had a feeling that it would be
a rather selfish kind of success—individual success at the cost of
failing to do my duty in assisting in laying a foundation for the
masses.

At this period in the progress of our race a very large proportion of
the young men who went to school or to college did so with the
expressed determination to prepare themselves to be great lawyers, or
Congressmen, and many of the women planned to become music teachers;
but I had a reasonably fixed idea, even at that early period in my
life, that there was need for something to be done to prepare the way
for successful lawyers, Congressmen, and music teachers.

I felt that the conditions were a good deal like those of an old coloured
man, during the days of slavery, who wanted to learn how to play on the
guitar. 94 In his desire to take guitar lessons he applied to one of his
young masters to teach him; but the young man, not having much faith
in the ability of the slave to master the guitar at his age, sought to
discourage him by telling him: “Uncle Jake, I will give you guitar
lessons; but, Jake, I will have to charge you three dollars for the
first lesson, two dollars for the second lesson, and one dollar for
the third lesson. But I will charge you only twenty-five cents for the
last lesson.”

Soon after my work in connection with the removal of the capital was
finished, I received an invitation which gave me great joy and which
at the same time was a very pleasant surprise. This was a letter from
General Armstrong, inviting me to return to Hampton at the next
Commencement to deliver what was called the “post-graduate address.”
This was an honour which I had not dreamed of receiving. With much
care I prepared the best address that I was capable of. I chose for my
subject “The Force That Wins.”

As I returned to Hampton for the purpose of delivering this address,
I went over much of the same ground—now, however, covered entirely by
railroad95—that I had traversed nearly six years before, when I first
sought entrance into Hampton Institute as a student. Now I was able to
ride the whole distance in the train. I was constantly contrasting
this with my first journey to Hampton. I think I may say, without
seeming egotism, that it is seldom that five years have wrought such a
change in the life and aspirations of an individual.

At Hampton I received a warm welcome from teachers and students. I
found that during my absence from Hampton the institute each year had
been getting closer to the real needs and conditions of our people;
that the industrial teaching, as well as that of the academic
department, had greatly improved. The plan of the school was not
modelled after that of any other institution then in existence, but
every improvement was made under the magnificent leadership of General
Armstrong solely with the view of meeting and helping the needs of our
people as they presented themselves at the time. Too often, it seems
to me, in missionary and educational work among undeveloped races,
people yield to the temptation of doing that which was done a hundred years
before, or is being done in other communities a thousand miles away. The
temptation often is to run each individual through a certain educational mould,
regardless96 of the condition of the subject or the end to be
accomplished. This was not so at Hampton Institute.

The address which I delivered on Commencement Day seems to have
pleased every one, and many kind and encouraging words were spoken to
me regarding it. Soon after my return to my home in West Virginia,
where I had planned to continue teaching, I was again surprised to
receive a letter from General Armstrong, asking me to return to
Hampton partly as a teacher and partly to pursue some supplementary
studies. This was in the summer of 1879. Soon after I began my first
teaching in West Virginia I had picked out four of the brightest and
most promising of my pupils, in addition to my two brothers, to whom I
have already referred, and had given them special attention, with the
view of having them go to Hampton. They had gone there, and in each
case the teachers had found them so well prepared that they entered
advanced classes. This fact, it seems, led to my being called back to
Hampton as a teacher. One of the young men that I sent to Hampton in
this way is now Dr. Samuel E. Courtney, a successful physician in
Boston, and a member of the School Board of that city.

About this time the experiment was being tried
for97 the first time, by General Armstrong, of educating Indians at
Hampton. Few people then had any confidence in the ability of the
Indians to receive education and to profit by it. General Armstrong
was anxious to try the experiment systematically on a large scale. He
secured from the reservations in the Western states over one hundred
wild and for the most part perfectly ignorant Indians, the greater
proportion of whom were young men. The special work which the General
desired me to do was to be a sort of “house father” to the Indian
young men—that is, I was to live in the building with them and have
the charge of their discipline, clothing, rooms, and so on. This was a
very tempting offer, but I had become so much absorbed in my work in
West Virginia that I dreaded to give it up. However, I tore myself
away from it. I did not know how to refuse to perform any service that
General Armstrong desired of me.

On going to Hampton, I took up my residence in a building with about
seventy-five Indian youths. I was the only person in the building who
was not a member of their race. At first I had a good deal of doubt
about my ability to succeed. I knew that the average Indian felt
himself above the white man, and, of course, he felt himself far above the
Negro, 98 largely on account of the fact of the Negro having submitted
to slavery—a thing which the Indian would never do. The Indians, in
the Indian Territory, owned a large number of slaves during the days
of slavery. Aside from this, there was a general feeling that the
attempt to educate and civilize the red men at Hampton would be a
failure. All this made me proceed very cautiously, for I felt keenly
the great responsibility. But I was determined to succeed. It was not
long before I had the complete confidence of the Indians, and not only
this, but I think I am safe in saying that I had their love and
respect. I found that they were about like any other human beings;
that they responded to kind treatment and resented ill-treatment. They
were continually planning to do something that would add to my
happiness and comfort. The things that they disliked most, I think,
were to have their long hair cut, to give up wearing their blankets,
and to cease smoking; but no white American ever thinks that any other
race is wholly civilized until he wears the white man’s clothes, eats
the white man’s food, speaks the white man’s language, and professes
the white man’s religion.

When the difficulty of learning the English language was subtracted,
I found that in the matter
of99 learning trades and in mastering academic studies there was little
difference between the coloured and Indian students. It was a constant
delight to me to note the interest which the coloured students took in
trying to help the Indians in every way possible. There were a few of
the coloured students who felt that the Indians ought not to be
admitted to Hampton, but these were in the minority. Whenever they
were asked to do so, the Negro students gladly took the Indians as
room-mates, in order that they might teach them to speak English and
to acquire civilized habits.

I have often wondered if there was a white institution in this
country whose students would have welcomed the incoming of more than a
hundred companions of another race in the cordial way that these black
students at Hampton welcomed the red ones. How often I have wanted to
say to white students that they lift themselves up in proportion as
they help to lift others, and the more unfortunate the race, and the
lower in the scale of civilization, the more does one raise one’s self
by giving the assistance.

This reminds me of a conversation which I once had with the Hon.
Frederick Douglass. At one time Mr. Douglass was travelling in the
state of Pennsylvania, and was forced, on account of his
colour, 100 to ride in the baggage-car, in spite of the fact that he had
paid the same price for his passage that the other passengers had
paid. When some of the white passengers went into the baggage-car to
console Mr. Douglass, and one of them said to him: “I am sorry, Mr.
Douglass, that you have been degraded in this manner,” Mr. Douglass
straightened himself up on the box upon which he was sitting, and
replied: “They cannot degrade Frederick Douglass. The soul that is
within me no man can degrade. I am not the one that is being degraded
on account of this treatment, but those who are inflicting it upon me.”

In one part of our country, where the law demands the separation of
the races on the railroad trains, I saw at one time a rather amusing
instance which showed how difficult it sometimes is to know where the
black begins and the white ends.

There was a man who was well known in his community as a Negro, but
who was so white that even an expert would have hard work to classify
him as a black man. This man was riding in the part of the train set
aside for the coloured passengers. When the train conductor reached him,
he showed at once that he was perplexed. If the man was a Negro, the
conductor did not want to send him into the white people’s coach; at the
same101 time, if he was a white man, the conductor did not want to
insult him by asking him if he was a Negro. The official looked him
over carefully, examining his hair, eyes, nose, and hands, but still
seemed puzzled. Finally, to solve the difficulty, he stooped over and
peeped at the man’s feet. When I saw the conductor examining the feet
of the man in question, I said to myself, “That will settle it;” and
so it did, for the trainman promptly decided that the passenger was a
Negro, and let him remain where he was. I congratulated myself that my
race was fortunate in not losing one of its members.

My experience has been that the time to test a true gentleman is to
observe him when he is in contact with individuals of a race that is
less fortunate than his own. This is illustrated in no better way than
by observing the conduct of the old-school type of Southern gentleman
when he is in contact with his former slaves or their descendants.

An example of what I mean is shown in a story told of George
Washington, who, meeting a coloured man in the road once, who politely
lifted his hat, lifted his own in return. Some of his white friends
who saw the incident criticised Washington for his action. In reply to their
criticism George Washington said: “Do you suppose that I am going to
permit102 a poor, ignorant, coloured man to be more polite than I am?”

While I was in charge of the Indian boys at Hampton, I had one or two
experiences which illustrate the curious workings of caste in America.
One of the Indian boys was taken ill, and it became my duty to take
him to Washington, deliver him over to the Secretary of the Interior,
and get a receipt for him, in order that he might be returned to his
Western reservation. At that time I was rather ignorant of the ways of
the world. During my journey to Washington, on a steamboat, when the
bell rang for dinner, I was careful to wait and not enter the dining
room until after the greater part of the passengers had finished their
meal. Then, with my charge, I went to the dining saloon. The man in
charge politely informed me that the Indian could be served, but that
I could not. I never could understand how he knew just where to draw
the colour line, since the Indian and I were of about the same
complexion. The steward, however, seemed to be an expert in this
matter. I had been directed by the authorities at Hampton to stop at a
certain hotel in Washington with my charge, but when I went to this
hotel the clerk stated that he would be glad to receive the Indian
into the house, but said that he could not accommodate me.

An103 illustration of something of this same feeling came under my
observation afterward. I happened to find myself in a town in which so
much excitement and indignation were being expressed that it seemed
likely for a time that there would be a lynching. The occasion of the
trouble was that a dark-skinned man had stopped at the local hotel.
Investigation, however, developed the fact that this individual was a
citizen of Morocco, and that while travelling in this country he spoke
the English language. As soon as it was learned that he was not an
American Negro, all the signs of indignation disappeared. The man who
was the innocent cause of the excitement, though, found it prudent
after that not to speak English.

At the end of my first year with the Indians there came another
opening for me at Hampton, which, as I look back over my life now,
seems to have come providentially, to help to prepare me for my work
at Tuskegee later. General Armstrong had found out that there was
quite a number of young coloured men and women who were intensely in
earnest in wishing to get an education, but who were prevented from
entering Hampton Institute because they were too poor to be able to
pay any portion of the cost of their board, or even to supply
themselves with books. He conceived the idea of
starting104 a night-school in connection with the Institute, into which
a limited number of the most promising of these young men and women
would be received, on condition that they were to work for ten hours
during the day, and attend school for two hours at night. They were to
be paid something above the cost of their board for their work. The
greater part of their earnings was to be reserved in the school’s
treasury as a fund to be drawn on to pay their board when they had
become students in the day-school, after they had spent one or two
years in the night-school. In this way they would obtain a start in
their books and a knowledge of some trade or industry, in addition to
the other far-reaching benefits of the institution.

General Armstrong asked me to take charge of the night-school, and I
did so. At the beginning of this school there were about twelve
strong, earnest men and women who entered the class. During the day
the greater part of the young men worked in the school’s sawmill, and
the young women worked in the laundry. The work was not easy in either
place, but in all my teaching I never taught pupils who gave me such
genuine satisfaction as these did. They were good students, and
mastered their work thoroughly. They were so much in earnest that only
the ringing of the retiring-bell would make
them105 stop studying, and often they would urge me to continue the
lessons after the usual hour for going to bed had come.

These students showed so much earnestness, both in their hard work
during the day, as well as in their application to their studies at
night, that I gave them the name of “The Plucky Class”—a name which
soon grew popular and spread throughout the institution. After a
student had been in the night-school long enough to prove what was in
him, I gave him a printed certificate which read something like this:—

“This is to certify that James Smith is a member of The Plucky Class
of the Hampton Institute, and is in good and regular standing.”

The students prized these certificates highly, and they added greatly
to the popularity of the night-school. Within a few weeks this
department had grown to such an extent that there were about twenty-five
students in attendance. I have followed the course of many of
these twenty-five men and women ever since then, and they are now
holding important and useful positions in nearly every part of the
South. The night-school at Hampton, which started with only twelve
students, now numbers between three and four hundred, and is one of
the permanent and most important features of the institution.

CHAPTER VII

EARLY DAYS AT TUSKEGEE

D

URING the time that I had charge of the Indians and the night-school
at Hampton, I pursued some studies myself, under the direction of the
instructors there. One of these instructors was the Rev. Dr. H. B.
Frissell, the present Principal of the Hampton Institute, General
Armstrong’s successor.

In May, 1881, near the close of my first year in teaching the night-school,
in a way that I had not dared expect, the opportunity opened
for me to begin my life-work. One night in the chapel, after the usual
chapel exercises were over, General Armstrong referred to the fact
that he had received a letter from some gentlemen in Alabama asking
him to recommend some one to take charge of what was to be a normal
school for the coloured people in the little town of Tuskegee in that
state. These gentlemen seemed to take it for granted that no coloured
man suitable for the position could be secured, and they were
expecting the General to recommend a
white107 man for the place. The next day General Armstrong sent for me
to come to his office, and, much to my surprise, asked me if I thought
I could fill the position in Alabama. I told him that I would be
willing to try. Accordingly, he wrote to the people who had applied to
him for the information, that he did not know of any white man to
suggest, but if they would be willing to take a coloured man, he had
one whom he could recommend. In this letter he gave them my name.

Several days passed before anything more was heard about the matter.
Some time afterward, one Sunday evening during the chapel exercises, a
messenger came in and handed the General a telegram. At the end of the
exercises he read the telegram to the school. In substance, these were
its words: “Booker T. Washington will suit us. Send him at once.”

There was a great deal of joy expressed among the students and
teachers, and I received very hearty congratulations. I began to get
ready at once to go to Tuskegee. I went by way of my old home in West
Virginia, where I remained for several days, after which I proceeded
to Tuskegee. I found Tuskegee to be a town of about two thousand
inhabitants, nearly one-half of whom were coloured. It was in what was
known as the Black Belt of the South. In
the108 county in which Tuskegee is situated the coloured people
outnumbered the whites by about three to one. In some of the adjoining
and near-by counties the proportion was not far from six coloured
persons to one white.

I have often been asked to define the term “Black Belt.” So far as I
can learn, the term was first used to designate a part of the country
which was distinguished by the colour of the soil. The part of the
country possessing this thick, dark, and naturally rich soil was, of
course, the part of the South where the slaves were most profitable,
and consequently they were taken there in the largest numbers. Later,
and especially since the war, the term seems to be used wholly in a
political sense—that is, to designate the counties where the black
people outnumber the white.

Before going to Tuskegee I had expected to find there a building and
all the necessary apparatus ready for me to begin teaching. To my
disappointment, I found nothing of the kind. I did find, though, that
which no costly building and apparatus can supply,—hundreds of
hungry, earnest souls who wanted to secure knowledge.

Tuskegee seemed an ideal place for the school. It was in the midst of the
great bulk of the Negro population, and was rather secluded, being five miles
from109 the main line of railroad, with which it was connected by a
short line. During the days of slavery, and since, the town had been a
centre for the education of the white people. This was an added
advantage, for the reason that I found the white people possessing a
degree of culture and education that is not surpassed by many
localities. While the coloured people were ignorant, they had not, as
a rule, degraded and weakened their bodies by vices such as are common
to the lower class of people in the large cities. In general, I found
the relations between the two races pleasant. For example, the
largest, and I think at that time the only hardware store in the town
was owned and operated jointly by a coloured man and a white man. This
copartnership continued until the death of the white partner.

I found that about a year previous to my going to Tuskegee some of
the coloured people who had heard something of the work of education
being done a Hampton had applied to the state Legislature, through
their representatives, for a small appropriation to be used in
starting a normal school in Tuskegee. This request the Legislature had
complied with to the extent of granting an annual appropriation of two
thousand dollars. I soon learned, however, that this money could be
used only for the payment of the salaries of the instructors, and that
there110 was no provision for securing land, buildings, or apparatus.
The task before me did not seem a very encouraging one. It seemed much
like making bricks without straw. The coloured people were overjoyed,
and were constantly offering their services in any way in which they
could be of assistance in getting the school started.

My first task was to find a place in which to open the school. After
looking the town over with some care, the most suitable place that
could be secured seemed to be a rather dilapidated shanty near the
coloured Methodist church, together with the church itself as a sort
of assembly-room. Both the church and the shanty were in about as bad
condition as was possible. I recall that during the first months of
school that I taught in this building it was in such poor repair that,
whenever it rained, one of the older students would very kindly leave
his lessons and hold an umbrella over me while I heard the recitations
of the others. I remember, also, that on more than one occasion my
landlady held an umbrella over me while I ate breakfast.

At the time I went to Alabama the coloured people were taking
considerable interest in politics, and they were very anxious that I
should become one of them politically, in every respect. They seemed
to have a little distrust of strangers in this regard. I
recall111 that one man, who seemed to have been designated by the others
to look after my political destiny, came to me on several occasions
and said, with a good deal of earnestness: “We wants you to be sure to
vote jes’ like we votes. We can’t read de newspapers very much, but we
knows how to vote, an’ we wants you to vote jes’ like we votes.” He
added: “We watches de white man, and we keeps watching de white man
till we finds out which way de white man’s gwine to vote; an’ when we
finds out which way de white man’s gwine to vote, den we votes ’xactly
de other way. Den we knows we’s right.”

I am glad to add, however, that at the present time the disposition
to vote against the white man merely because he is white is largely
disappearing, and the race is learning to vote from principle, for
what the voter considers to be for the best interests of both races.

I reached Tuskegee, as I have said, early in June, 1881. The first
month I spent in finding accommodations for the school, and in
travelling through Alabama, examining into the actual life of the
people, especially in the country districts, and in getting the school
advertised among the class of people that I wanted to have attend it.
The most of my travelling was done over the country roads, with a mule
and112 a cart or a mule and a buggy wagon for conveyance. I ate and
slept with the people, in their little cabins. I saw their farms,
their schools, their churches. Since, in the case of the most of these
visits, there had been no notice given in advance that a stranger was
expected, I had the advantage of seeing the real, everyday life of the
people.

In the plantation districts I found that, as a rule, the whole family
slept in one room, and that in addition to the immediate family there
sometimes were relatives, or others not related to the family, who
slept in the same room. On more than one occasion I went outside the
house to get ready for bed, or to wait until the family had gone to
bed. They usually contrived some kind of a place for me to sleep,
either on the floor or in a special part of another’s bed. Rarely was
there any place provided in the cabin where one could bathe even the
face and hands, but usually some provision was made for this outside
the house, in the yard.

The common diet of the people was fat pork and corn bread. At times I
have eaten in cabins where they had only corn bread and “black-eye
peas” cooked in plain water. The people seemed to have no other idea
than to live on this fat meat and corn bread,—the meat, and the meal
of which the bread was made, having been bought at a high price at a
store113 in town, notwithstanding the fact that the land all about the
cabin homes could easily have been made to produce nearly every kind
of garden vegetable that is raised anywhere in the country. Their one
object seemed to be to plant nothing but cotton; and in many cases
cotton was planted up to the very door of the cabin.

In these cabin homes I often found sewing-machines which had been
bought, or were being bought, on instalments, frequently at a cost of
as much as sixty dollars, or showy clocks for which the occupants of
the cabins had paid twelve or fourteen dollars. I remember that on one
occasion when I went into one of these cabins for dinner, when I sat
down to the table for a meal with the four members of the family, I
noticed that, while there were five of us at the table, there was but
one fork for the five of us to use. Naturally there was an awkward
pause on my part. In the opposite corner of that same cabin was an
organ for which the people told me they were paying sixty dollars in
monthly instalments. One fork, and a sixty-dollar organ!

In most cases the sewing-machine was not used, the clocks were so
worthless that they did not keep correct time—and if they had, in
nine cases out of ten there would have been no one in the family who
could have told the time of day—while the organ,
of114 course, was rarely used for want of a person who could play upon it.

In the case to which I have referred, where the family sat down to
the table for the meal at which I was their guest, I could see plainly
that this was an awkward and unusual proceeding, and was done in my
honour. In most cases, when the family got up in the morning, for
example, the wife would put a piece of meat in a frying-pan and put a
lump of dough in a “skillet,” as they called it. These utensils would
be placed on the fire, and in ten or fifteen minutes breakfast would
be ready. Frequently the husband would take his bread and meat in his
hand and start for the field, eating as he walked. The mother would
sit down in a corner and eat her breakfast, perhaps from a plate and
perhaps directly from the “skillet” or frying-pan, while the children
would eat their portion of the bread and meat while running about the
yard. At certain seasons of the year, when meat was scarce, it was
rarely that the children who were not old enough or strong enough to
work in the fields would have the luxury of meat.

The breakfast over, and with practically no attention given to the
house, the whole family would, as a general thing, proceed to the
cotton-field. Every child that was large enough to carry a hoe was put
to work, and the baby—for usually there was at
least115 one baby—would be laid down at the end of the cotton row, so
that its mother could give it a certain amount of attention when she
had finished chopping her row. The noon meal and the supper were taken
in much the same way as the breakfast.

All the days of the family would be spent after much this same
routine, except Saturday and Sunday. On Saturday the whole family
would spend at least half a day, and often a whole day, in town. The
idea in going to town was, I suppose, to do shopping, but all the
shopping that the whole family had money for could have been attended
to in ten minutes by one person. Still, the whole family remained in
town for most of the day, spending the greater part of the time in
standing on the streets, the women, too often, sitting about somewhere
smoking or dipping snuff. Sunday was usually spent in going to some
big meeting. With few exceptions, I found that the crops were
mortgaged in the counties where I went, and that the most of the
coloured farmers were in debt. The state had not been able to build
schoolhouses in the country districts, and, as a rule, the schools
were taught in churches or in log cabins. More than once, while on my
journeys, I found that there was no provision made in the house used
for school purposes for heating the building during the winter, and
consequently116 a fire had to be built in the yard, and teacher and
pupils passed in and out of the house as they got cold or warm. With
few exceptions, I found the teachers in these country schools to be
miserably poor in preparation for their work, and poor in moral
character. The schools were in session from three to five months.
There was practically no apparatus in the schoolhouses, except that
occasionally there was a rough blackboard. I recall that one day I
went into a schoolhouse—or rather into an abandoned log cabin that
was being used as a schoolhouse—and found five pupils who were
studying a lesson from one book. Two of these, on the front seat, were
using the book between them; behind these were two others peeping over
the shoulders of the first two, and behind the four was a fifth little
fellow who was peeping over the shoulders of all four.

What I have said concerning the character of the schoolhouses and
teachers will also apply quite accurately as a description of the
church buildings and the ministers.

I met some very interesting characters during my travels. As
illustrating the peculiar mental processes of the country people, I
remember that I asked one coloured man, who was about sixty years old,
to tell me something of his history. He said that he had
been117 born in Virginia, and sold into Alabama in 1845. I asked him how
many were sold at the same time. He said, “There were five of us;
myself and brother and three mules.”

In giving all these descriptions of what I saw during my month of
travel in the country around Tuskegee, I wish my readers to keep in
mind the fact that there were many encouraging exceptions to the
conditions which I have described. I have stated in such plain words
what I saw, mainly for the reason that later I want to emphasize the
encouraging changes that have taken place in the community, not wholly
by the work of the Tuskegee school, but by that of other institutions
as well.

CHAPTER VIII

TEACHING SCHOOL IN A STABLE AND A HEN-HOUSE

I

CONFESS that what I saw during my month of travel and investigation
left me with a very heavy heart. The work to be done in order to lift
these people up seemed almost beyond accomplishing. I was only one
person, and it seemed to me that the little effort which I could put
forth could go such a short distance toward bringing about results. I
wondered if I could accomplish anything, and if it were worth while
for me to try.

Of one thing I felt more strongly convinced than ever, after spending
this month in seeing the actual life of the coloured people, and that
was that, in order to lift them up, something must be done more than
merely to imitate New England education as it then existed. I saw more
clearly than ever the wisdom of the system which General Armstrong had
inaugurated at Hampton. To take the children of such people as I had
been among for a month, and each day give them a few hours of mere
book education, I felt would be almost a waste of time.

After119 consultation with the citizens of Tuskegee, I set July 4, 1881,
as the day for the opening of the school in the little shanty and
church which had been secured for its accommodation. The white people,
as well as the coloured, were greatly interested in the starting of
the new school, and the opening day was looked forward to with much
earnest discussion. There were not a few white people in the vicinity
of Tuskegee who looked with some disfavour upon the project. They
questioned its value to the coloured people, and had a fear that it
might result in bringing about trouble between the races. Some had the
feeling that in proportion as the Negro received education, in the
same proportion would his value decrease as an economic factor in the
state. These people feared the result of education would be that the
Negroes would leave the farms, and that it would be difficult to
secure them for domestic service.

The white people who questioned the wisdom of starting this new
school had in their minds pictures of what was called an educated
Negro, with a high hat, imitation gold eye-glasses, a showy walking-stick,
kid gloves, fancy boots, and what not—in a word, a man who was
determined to live by his wits. It was difficult for these people to see
how120 education would produce any other kind of a coloured man.

In the midst of all the difficulties which I encountered in getting
the little school started, and since then through a period of nineteen
years, there are two men among all the many friends of the school in
Tuskegee upon whom I have depended constantly for advice and guidance;
and the success of the undertaking is largely due to these men, from
whom I have never sought anything in vain. I mention them simply as
types. One is a white man and an ex-slaveholder, Mr. George W.
Campbell; the other is a black man and an ex-slave, Mr. Lewis Adams.
These were the men who wrote to General Armstrong for a teacher.

Mr. Campbell is a merchant and banker, and had had little experience
in dealing with matters pertaining to education. Mr. Adams was a
mechanic, and had learned the trades of shoemaking, harnessmaking, and
tinsmithing during the days of slavery. He had never been to school a
day in his life, but in some way he had learned to read and write
while a slave. From the first, these two men saw clearly what my plan
of education was, sympathized with me, and supported me in every
effort. In the days which were darkest financially for the school, Mr.
Campbell was never appealed to when he was not
willing121 to extend all the aid in his power. I do not know two men,
one an ex-slaveholder, one an ex-slave, whose advice and judgment I
would feel more like following in everything which concerns the life
and development of the school at Tuskegee than those of these two men.

I have always felt that Mr. Adams, in a large degree, derived his
unusual power of mind from the training given his hands in the process
of mastering well three trades during the days of slavery. If one goes
to-day into any Southern town, and asks for the leading and most
reliable coloured man in the community, I believe that in five cases
out of ten he will be directed to a Negro who learned a trade during
the days of slavery.

On the morning that the school opened, thirty students reported for
admission. I was the only teacher. The students were about equally
divided between the sexes. Most of them lived in Macon County, the
county in which Tuskegee is situated, and of which it is the county-seat.
A great many more students wanted to enter the school, but it
had been decided to receive only those who were above fifteen years of
age, and who had previously received some education. The greater part
of the thirty were public-school teachers, and some of them were
nearly forty years of age. With the teachers came
some122 of their former pupils, and when they were examined it was
amusing to note that in several cases the pupil entered a higher class
than did his former teacher. It was also interesting to note how many
big books some of them had studied, and how many high-sounding
subjects some of them claimed to have mastered. The bigger the book
and the longer the name of the subject, the prouder they felt of their
accomplishment. Some had studied Latin, and one or two Greek. This
they thought entitled them to special distinction.

In fact, one of the saddest things I saw during the month of travel
which I have described was a young man, who had attended some high
school, sitting down in a one-room cabin, with grease on his clothing,
filth all around him, and weeds in the yard and garden, engaged in
studying a French grammar.

The students who came first seemed to be fond of memorizing long and
complicated “rules” in grammar and mathematics, but had little thought
or knowledge of applying these rules to the everyday affairs of their
life. One subject which they liked to talk about, and tell me that
they had mastered, in arithmetic, was “banking and discount,” but I
soon found out that neither they nor almost any one in the
neighbourhood in which they
lived123 had ever had a bank account. In registering the names of the
students, I found that almost every one of them had one or more middle
initials. When I asked what the “J” stood for, in the name of John J.
Jones, it was explained to me that this was a part of his “entitles.”
Most of the students wanted to get an education because they thought
it would enable them to earn more money as school-teachers.

Notwithstanding what I have said about them in these respects, I have
never seen a more earnest and willing company of young men and women
than these students were. They were all willing to learn the right
thing as soon as it was shown them what was right. I was determined to
start them off on a solid and thorough foundation, so far as their
books were concerned. I soon learned that most of them had the merest
smattering of the high-sounding things that they had studied. While
they could locate the Desert of Sahara or the capital of China on an
artificial globe, I found out that the girls could not locate the
proper places for the knives and forks on an actual dinner-table, or
the places on which the bread and meat should be set.

I had to summon a good deal of courage to take a student who had been
studying cube root and “banking and discount,” and explain to him that
the124 wisest thing for him to do first was thoroughly to master the
multiplication table.

The number of pupils increased each week, until by the end of the
first month there were nearly fifty. Many of them, however, said that,
as they could remain only for two or three months, they wanted to
enter a high class and get a diploma the first year if possible.

At the end of the first six weeks a new and rare face entered the
school as a co-teacher. This was Miss Olivia A. Davidson, who later
became my wife. Miss Davidson was born in Ohio, and received her
preparatory education in the public schools of that state. When little
more than a girl, she heard of the need of teachers in the South. She
went to the state of Mississippi and began teaching there. Later she
taught in the city of Memphis. While teaching in Mississippi, one of
her pupils became ill with smallpox. Every one in the community was so
frightened that no one would nurse the boy. Miss Davidson closed her
school and remained by the bedside of the boy night and day until he
recovered. While she was at her Ohio home on her vacation, the worst
epidemic of yellow fever broke out in Memphis, Tenn., that perhaps has
ever occurred in the South. When she heard of this, she at once
telegraphed the Mayor of Memphis, offering
her125 services as a yellow-fever nurse, although she had never had the
disease.

Miss Davidson’s experience in the South showed her that the people
needed something more than mere book-learning. She heard of the
Hampton system of education, and decided that this was what she wanted
in order to prepare herself for better work in the South. The
attention of Mrs. Mary Hemenway, of Boston, was attracted to her rare
ability. Through Mrs. Hemenway’s kindness and generosity, Miss
Davidson, after graduating at Hampton, received an opportunity to
complete a two years’ course of training at the Massachusetts State
Normal School at Framingham.

Before she went to Framingham, some one suggested to Miss Davidson
that, since she was so very light in colour, she might find it more
comfortable not to be known as a coloured woman in this school in
Massachusetts. She at once replied that under no circumstances and for
no considerations would she consent to deceive any one in regard to
her racial identity.

Soon after her graduation from the Framingham institution, Miss
Davidson came to Tuskegee, bringing into the school many valuable and
fresh ideas as to the best methods of teaching, as well as a rare
moral character and a life of unselfishness that I
think126 has seldom been equalled. No single individual did more toward
laying the foundations of the Tuskegee Institute so as to insure the
successful work that has been done there than Olivia A. Davidson.

Miss Davidson and I began consulting as to the future of the school
from the first. The students were making progress in learning books
and in developing their minds; but it became apparent at once that, if
we were to make any permanent impression upon those who had come to us
for training, we must do something besides teach them mere books. The
students had come from homes where they had had no opportunities for
lessons which would teach them how to care for their bodies. With few
exceptions, the homes in Tuskegee in which the students boarded were
but little improvement upon those from which they had come. We wanted
to teach the students how to bathe; how to care for their teeth and
clothing. We wanted to teach them what to eat, and how to eat it
properly, and how to care for their rooms. Aside from this, we wanted
to give them such a practical knowledge of some one industry, together
with the spirit of industry, thrift, and economy, that they would be
sure of knowing how to make a living after they had left us. We wanted
to teach them to study actual things instead of mere books alone.

We127 found that the most of our students came from the country
districts, where agriculture in some form or other was the main
dependence of the people. We learned that about eighty-five per cent
of the coloured people in the Gulf states depended upon agriculture
for their living. Since this was true, we wanted to be careful not to
educate our students out of sympathy with agricultural life, so that
they would be attracted from the country to the cities, and yield to
the temptation of trying to live by their wits. We wanted to give them
such an education as would fit a large proportion of them to be
teachers, and at the same time cause them to return to the plantation
districts and show the people there how to put new energy and new
ideas into farming, as well as into the intellectual and moral and
religious life of the people.

All these ideas and needs crowded themselves upon us with a
seriousness that seemed well-nigh overwhelming. What were we to do? We
had only the little old shanty and the abandoned church which the good
coloured people of the town of Tuskegee had kindly loaned us for the
accommodation of the classes. The number of students was increasing
daily. The more we saw of them, and the more we travelled through the
country districts, the more we saw that our efforts were reaching, to
only128 a partial degree, the actual needs of the people whom we wanted
to lift up through the medium of the students whom we should educate
and send out as leaders.

The more we talked with the students, who were then coming to us from
several parts of the state, the more we found that the chief ambition
among a large proportion of them was to get an education so that they
would not have to work any longer with their hands.

This is illustrated by a story told of a coloured man in Alabama,
who, one hot day in July, while he was at work in a cotton-field,
suddenly stopped, and, looking toward the skies, said: “O Lawd, de
cotton am so grassy, de work am so hard, and the sun am so hot dat I
b’lieve dis darky am called to preach!”

About three months after the opening of the school, and at the time
when we were in the greatest anxiety about our work, there came into
the market for sale an old and abandoned plantation which was situated
about a mile from the town of Tuskegee. The mansion house—or “big
house,” as it would have been called—which had been occupied by the
owners during slavery, had been burned. After making a careful
examination of this
place, 129 it seemed to be just the location that we wanted in order to
make our work effective and permanent.

But how were we to get it? The price asked for it was very little—only
five hundred dollars—but we had no money, and we were strangers
in the town and had no credit. The owner of the land agreed to let us
occupy the place if we could make a payment of two hundred and fifty
dollars down, with the understanding that the remaining two hundred
and fifty dollars must be paid within a year. Although five hundred
dollars was cheap for the land, it was a large sum when one did not
have any part of it.

In the midst of the difficulty I summoned a great deal of courage and
wrote to my friend General J. F. B. Marshall, the Treasurer of the
Hampton Institute, putting the situation before him and beseeching him
to lend me the two hundred and fifty dollars on my own personal
responsibility. Within a few days a reply came to the effect that he
had no authority to lend me money belonging to the Hampton Institute,
but that he would gladly lend me the amount needed from his own
personal funds.

I confess that the securing of this money in this way was a great
surprise to me, as well as a source of gratification. Up to that time
I never had had in my possession so much money as one hundred dollars
at a time, and the loan which I had asked
General130 Marshall for seemed a tremendously large sum to me. The fact
of my being responsible for the repaying of such a large amount of
money weighed very heavily upon me.

I lost no time in getting ready to move the school on to the new
farm. At the time we occupied the place there were standing upon it a
cabin, formerly used as the dining room, an old kitchen, a stable, and
an old hen-house. Within a few weeks we had all of these structures in
use. The stable was repaired and used as a recitation-room, and very
presently the hen-house was utilized for the same purpose.

I recall that one morning, when I told an old coloured man who lived
near, and who sometimes helped me, that our school had grown so large
that it would be necessary for us to use the hen-house for school
purposes, and that I wanted him to help me give it a thorough cleaning
out the next day, he replied, in the most earnest manner: “What you
mean, boss? You sholy ain’t gwine clean out de hen-house in de
day-time?”

Nearly all the work of getting the new location ready for school
purposes was done by the students after school was over in the
afternoon. As soon as we got the cabins in condition to be used, I
determined to clear up some land so that we could plant
a131 crop. When I explained my plan to the young men, I noticed that
they did not seem to take to it very kindly. It was hard for them to
see the connection between clearing land and an education. Besides,
many of them had been school-teachers, and they questioned whether or
not clearing land would be in keeping with their dignity. In order to
relieve them from any embarrassment, each afternoon after school I
took my axe and led the way to the woods. When they saw that I was not
afraid or ashamed to work, they began to assist with more enthusiasm.
We kept at the work each afternoon, until we had cleared about twenty
acres and had planted a crop.

In the meantime Miss Davidson was devising plans to repay the loan.
Her first effort was made by holding festivals, or “suppers.” She made
a personal canvass among the white and coloured families in the town
of Tuskegee, and got them to agree to give something, like a cake, a
chicken, bread, or pies, that could be sold at the festival. Of course
the coloured people were glad to give anything that they could spare,
but I want to add that Miss Davidson did not apply to a single white
family, so far as I now remember, that failed to donate something; and
in many ways the white families showed their interest in the school.

Several132 of these festivals were held, and quite a little sum of money
was raised. A canvass was also made among the people of both races for
direct gifts of money, and most of those applied to gave small sums.
It was often pathetic to note the gifts of the older coloured people,
most of whom had spent their best days in slavery. Sometimes they
would give five cents, sometimes twenty-five cents. Sometimes the
contribution was a quilt, or a quantity of sugarcane. I recall one old
coloured woman, who was about seventy years of age, who came to see me
when we were raising money to pay for the farm. She hobbled into the
room where I was, leaning on a cane. She was clad in rags; but they
were clean. She said: “Mr. Washin’ton, God knows I spent de bes’ days
of my life in slavery. God knows I’s ignorant an’ poor; but,” she
added, “I knows what you an’ Miss Davidson is tryin’ to do. I knows
you is tryin’ to make better men an’ better women for de coloured
race. I ain’t got no money, but I wants you to take dese six eggs,
what I’s been savin’ up, an’ I wants you to put dese six eggs into de
eddication of dese boys an’ gals.”

Since the work at Tuskegee started, it has been my privilege to
receive many gifts for the benefit of the institution, but never any,
I think, that touched me so deeply as this one.

CHAPTER IX

ANXIOUS DAYS AND SLEEPLESS NIGHTS

T

HE coming of Christmas, that first year of our residence in Alabama,
gave us an opportunity to get a farther insight into the real life of
the people. The first thing that reminded us that Christmas had
arrived was the “foreday” visits of scores of children rapping at our
doors, asking for “Chris’mus gifts! Chris’mus gifts!” Between the
hours of two o’clock and five o’clock in the morning I presume that we
must have had a half-hundred such calls. This custom prevails
throughout this portion of the South to-day.

During the days of slavery it was a custom quite generally observed
throughout all the Southern states to give the coloured people a week
of holiday at Christmas, or to allow the holiday to continue as long
as the “yule log” lasted. The male members of the race, and often the
female members, were expected to get drunk. We found that for a whole
week the coloured people in and around Tuskegee
dropped134 work the day before Christmas, and that it was difficult to
get any one to perform any service from the time they stopped work
until after the New Year. Persons who at other times did not use
strong drink thought it quite the proper thing to indulge in it rather
freely during the Christmas week. There was a widespread hilarity, and
a free use of guns, pistols, and gunpowder generally. The sacredness
of the season seemed to have been almost wholly lost sight of.

During this first Christmas vacation I went some distance from the
town to visit the people on one of the large plantations. In their
poverty and ignorance it was pathetic to see their attempts to get joy
out of the season that in most parts of the country is so sacred and
so dear to the heart. In one cabin I noticed that all that the five
children had to remind them of the coming of Christ was a single bunch
of firecrackers, which they had divided among them. In another cabin,
where there were at least a half-dozen persons, they had only ten
cents’ worth of ginger-cakes, which had been bought in the store the
day before. In another family they had only a few pieces of sugarcane.
In still another cabin I found nothing but a new jug of cheap, mean
whiskey, which the husband and wife were making free use of,
notwithstanding the fact
that135 the husband was one of the local ministers. In a few instances I
found that the people had gotten hold of some bright-coloured cards
that had been designed for advertising purposes, and were making the
most of those. In other homes some member of the family had bought a
new pistol. In the majority of cases there was nothing to be seen in
the cabin to remind one of the coming of the Saviour, except that the
people had ceased work in the fields and were lounging about their
homes. At night, during Christmas week, they usually had what they
called a “frolic,” in some cabin on the plantation. This meant a kind
of rough dance, where there was likely to be a good deal of whiskey
used, and where there might be some shooting or cutting with razors.

While I was making this Christmas visit I met an old coloured man who
was one of the numerous local preachers, who tried to convince me,
from the experience Adam had in the Garden of Eden, that God had
cursed all labour, and that, therefore, it was a sin for any man to
work. For that reason this man sought to do as little work as
possible. He seemed at that time to be supremely happy, because he was
living, as he expressed it, through one week that was free from sin.

In the school we made a special effort to teach
our136 students the meaning of Christmas, and to give them lessons in
its proper observance. In this we have been successful to a degree
that makes me feel safe in saying that the season now has a new
meaning, not only through all that immediate region, but, in a
measure, wherever our graduates have gone.

At the present time one of the most satisfactory features of the
Christmas and Thanksgiving seasons at Tuskegee is the unselfish and
beautiful way in which our graduates and students spend their time in
administering to the comfort and happiness of others, especially the
unfortunate. Not long ago some of our young men spent a holiday in
rebuilding a cabin for a helpless coloured woman who is about seventy-five
years old. At another time I remember that I made it known in
chapel, one night, that a very poor student was suffering from cold,
because he needed a coat. The next morning two coats were sent to my
office for him.

I have referred to the disposition on the part of the white people in
the town of Tuskegee and vicinity to help the school. From the first,
I resolved to make the school a real part of the community in which it
was located. I was determined that no one should have the feeling that
it was a foreign institution, dropped down in the midst of
the137 people, for which they had no responsibility and in which they
had no interest. I noticed that the very fact that they had been asked
to contribute toward the purchase of the land made them begin to feel
as if it was going to be their school, to a large degree. I noted that
just in proportion as we made the white people feel that the
institution was a part of the life of the community, and that, while
we wanted to make friends in Boston, for example, we also wanted to
make white friends in Tuskegee, and that we wanted to make the school
of real service to all the people, their attitude toward the school
became favourable.

Perhaps I might add right here, what I hope to demonstrate later,
that, so far as I know, the Tuskegee school at the present time has no
warmer and more enthusiastic friends anywhere than it has among the
white citizens of Tuskegee and throughout the state of Alabama and the
entire South. From the first, I have advised our people in the South
to make friends in every straightforward, manly way with their next-door
neighbour, whether he be a black man or a white man. I have also
advised them, where no principle is at stake, to consult the interests
of their local communities, and to advise with their friends in regard
to their voting.

For several months the work of securing the
money138 with which to pay for the farm went on without ceasing. At the
end of three months enough was secured to repay the loan of two
hundred and fifty dollars to General Marshall, and within two months
more we had secured the entire five hundred dollars and had received a
deed of the one hundred acres of land. This gave us a great deal of
satisfaction. It was not only a source of satisfaction to secure a
permanent location for the school, but it was equally satisfactory to
know that the greater part of the money with which it was paid for had
been gotten from the white and coloured people in the town of
Tuskegee. The most of this money was obtained by holding festivals and
concerts, and from small individual donations.

Our next effort was in the direction of increasing the cultivation of
the land, so as to secure some return from it, and at the same time
give the students training in agriculture. All the industries at
Tuskegee have been started in natural and logical order, growing out
of the needs of a community settlement. We began with farming, because
we wanted something to eat.

Many of the students, also, were able to remain in school but a few
weeks at a time, because they had so little money with which to pay
their board. Thus another object which made it desirable to get
an139 industrial system started was in order to make it available as a
means of helping the students to earn money enough so that they might
be able to remain in school during the nine months’ session of the
school year.

The first animal that the school came into possession of was an old
blind horse given us by one of the white citizens of Tuskegee. Perhaps
I may add here that at the present time the school owns over two
hundred horses, colts, mules, cows, calves, and oxen, and about seven
hundred hogs and pigs, as well as a large number of sheep and goats.

The school was constantly growing in numbers, so much so that, after
we had got the farm paid for, the cultivation of the land begun, and
the old cabins which we had found on the place somewhat repaired, we
turned our attention toward providing a large, substantial building.
After having given a good deal of thought to the subject, we finally
had the plans drawn for a building that was estimated to cost about
six thousand dollars. This seemed to us a tremendous sum, but we knew
that the school must go backward or forward, and that our work would
mean little unless we could get hold of the students in their home life.

One incident which occurred about this time gave me a great deal of
satisfaction as well as surprise.
When140 it became known in the town that we were discussing the plans
for a new, large building, a Southern white man who was operating a
sawmill not far from Tuskegee came to me and said that he would gladly
put all the lumber necessary to erect the building on the grounds,
with no other guarantee for payment than my word that it would be paid
for when we secured some money. I told the man frankly that at the
time we did not have in our hands one dollar of the money needed.
Notwithstanding this, he insisted on being allowed to put the lumber
on the grounds. After we had secured some portion of the money we
permitted him to do this.

Miss Davidson again began the work of securing in various ways small
contributions for the new building from the white and coloured people
in and near Tuskegee. I think I never saw a community of people so
happy over anything as were the coloured people over the prospect of
this new building. One day, when we were holding a meeting to secure
funds for its erection, an old, ante-bellum coloured man came a
distance of twelve miles and brought in his ox-cart a large hog. When
the meeting was in progress, he rose in the midst of the company and
said that he had no money which he could give, but that he had raised
two fine hogs, and that he had
brought141 one of them as a contribution toward the expenses of the
building. He closed his announcement by saying: “Any nigger that’s got
any love for his race, or any respect for himself, will bring a hog to
the next meeting.” Quite a number of men in the community also
volunteered to give several days’ work, each, toward the erection of
the building.

After we had secured all the help that we could in Tuskegee, Miss
Davidson decided to go North for the purpose of securing additional
funds. For weeks she visited individuals and spoke in churches and
before Sunday schools and other organizations. She found this work
quite trying, and often embarrassing. The school was not known, but
she was not long in winning her way into the confidence of the best
people in the North.

The first gift from any Northern person was received from a New York
lady whom Miss Davidson met on the boat that was bringing her North.
They fell into a conversation, and the Northern lady became so much
interested in the effort being made at Tuskegee that before they
parted Miss Davidson was handed a check for fifty dollars. For some
time before our marriage, and also after it, Miss Davidson kept up the
work of securing money in the North and in the South by interesting people
by142 personal visits and through correspondence. At the same time she
kept in close touch with the work at Tuskegee, as lady principal and
classroom teacher. In addition to this, she worked among the older
people in and near Tuskegee, and taught a Sunday school class in the
town. She was never very strong, but never seemed happy unless she was
giving all of her strength to the cause which she loved. Often, at
night, after spending the day in going from door to door trying to
interest persons in the work at Tuskegee, she would be so exhausted
that she could not undress herself. A lady upon whom she called, in
Boston, afterward told me that at one time when Miss Davidson called
to see her and sent up her card the lady was detained a little before
she could see Miss Davidson, and when she entered the parlour she
found Miss Davidson so exhausted that she had fallen asleep.

While putting up our first building, which was named Porter Hall,
after Mr. A. H. Porter, of Brooklyn, N.Y., who gave a generous sum
toward its erection, the need for money became acute. I had given one
of our creditors a promise that upon a certain day he should be paid
four hundred dollars. On the morning of that day we did not have a
dollar. The mail arrived at the school at ten o’clock, and in this
mail there was a check sent by
Miss143 Davidson for exactly four hundred dollars. I could relate many
instances of almost the same character. This four hundred dollars was
given by two ladies in Boston. Two years later, when the work at
Tuskegee had grown considerably, and when we were in the midst of a
season when we were so much in need of money that the future looked
doubtful and gloomy, the same two Boston ladies sent us six thousand
dollars. Words cannot describe our surprise, or the encouragement that
the gift brought to us. Perhaps I might add here that for fourteen
years these same friends have sent us six thousand dollars each year.

As soon as the plans were drawn for the new building, the students
began digging out the earth where the foundations were to be laid,
working after the regular classes were over. They had not fully
outgrown the idea that it was hardly the proper thing for them to use
their hands, since they had come there, as one of them expressed it,
“to be educated, and not to work.” Gradually, though, I noted with
satisfaction that a sentiment in favour of work was gaining ground.
After a few weeks of hard work the foundations were ready, and a day
was appointed for the laying of the corner-stone.

When it is considered that the laying of this corner-stone took place
in the heart of the South,
in144 the “Black Belt,” in the centre of that part of our country that
was most devoted to slavery; that at that time slavery had been
abolished only about sixteen years; that only sixteen years before
that no Negro could be taught from books without the teacher receiving
the condemnation of the law or of public sentiment—when all this is
considered, the scene that was witnessed on that spring day at
Tuskegee was a remarkable one. I believe there are few places in the
world where it could have taken place.

The principal address was delivered by the Hon. Waddy Thompson, the
Superintendent of Education for the county. About the corner-stone
were gathered the teachers, the students, their parents and friends,
the county officials—who were white—and all the leading white men
in that vicinity, together with many of the black men and women whom
these same white people but a few years before had held a title to as
property. The members of both races were anxious to exercise the
privilege of placing under the corner-stone some memento.

Before the building was completed we passed through some very trying
seasons. More than once our hearts were made to bleed, as it were,
because bills were falling due that we did not have the money to meet.
Perhaps no one who has not gone
through145 the experience, month after month, of trying to erect
buildings and provide equipment for a school when no one knew where
the money was to come from, can properly appreciate the difficulties
under which we laboured. During the first years at Tuskegee I recall
that night after night I would roll and toss on my bed, without sleep,
because of the anxiety and uncertainty which we were in regarding
money. I knew that, in a large degree, we were trying an experiment—that
of testing whether or not it was possible for Negroes to build up
and control the affairs of a large educational institution. I knew
that if we failed it would injure the whole race. I knew that the
presumption was against us. I knew that in the case of white people
beginning such an enterprise it would be taken for granted that they
were going to succeed, but in our case I felt that people would be
surprised if we succeeded. All this made a burden which pressed down
on us, sometimes, it seemed, at the rate of a thousand pounds to the
square inch.

In all our difficulties and anxieties, however, I never went to a
white or a black person in the town of Tuskegee for any assistance
that was in their power to render, without being helped according to
their means. More than a dozen times, when bills figuring up into the
hundreds of dollars were falling
due, 146 I applied to the white men of Tuskegee for small loans, often
borrowing small amounts from as many as a half-dozen persons, to meet
our obligations. One thing I was determined to do from the first, and
that was to keep the credit of the school high; and this, I think I
can say without boasting, we have done all through these years.

I shall always remember a bit of advice given me by Mr. George W.
Campbell, the white man to whom I have referred as the one who induced
General Armstrong to send me to Tuskegee. Soon after I entered upon
the work Mr. Campbell said to me, in his fatherly way: “Washington,
always remember that credit is capital.”

At one time when we were in the greatest distress for money that we
ever experienced, I placed the situation frankly before General
Armstrong. Without hesitation he gave me his personal check for all
the money which he had saved for his own use. This was not the only
time that General Armstrong helped Tuskegee in this way. I do not
think I have ever made this fact public before.

During the summer of 1882, at the end of the first year’s work of the
school, I was married to Miss Fannie N. Smith, of Malden, W. Va. We
began keeping house in Tuskegee early in the fall. This made a home
for our teachers, who now
had147 been increased to four in number. My wife was also a graduate of
the Hampton Institute. After earnest and constant work in the
interests of the school, together with her housekeeping duties, my
wife passed away in May, 1884. One child, Portia M. Washington, was
born during our marriage.

From the first, my wife most earnestly devoted her thoughts and time
to the work of the school, and was completely one with me in every
interest and ambition. She passed away, however, before she had an
opportunity of seeing what the school was designed to be.

CHAPTER X

A HARDER TASK THAN MAKING BRICKS WITHOUT STRAW

F

ROM the very beginning, at Tuskegee, I was determined to have the
students do not only the agricultural and domestic work, but to have
them erect their own buildings. My plan was to have them, while
performing this service, taught the latest and best methods of labour,
so that the school would not only get the benefit of their efforts,
but the students themselves would be taught to see not only utility in
labour, but beauty and dignity; would be taught, in fact, how to lift
labour up from mere drudgery and toil, and would learn to love work
for its own sake. My plan was not to teach them to work in the old
way, but to show them how to make the forces of nature—air, water,
steam, electricity, horse-power—assist them in their labour.

At first many advised against the experiment of having the buildings
erected by the labour of the students, but I was determined to stick
to it. I told those who doubted the wisdom of the plan that I knew
that our first buildings would not be so
comfortable149 or so complete in their finish as buildings erected by
the experienced hands of outside workmen, but that in the teaching of
civilization, self-help, and self-reliance, the erection of the
buildings by the students themselves would more than compensate for
any lack of comfort or fine finish.

I further told those who doubted the wisdom of this plan, that the
majority of our students came to us in poverty, from the cabins of the
cotton, sugar, and rice plantations of the South, and that while I
knew it would please the students very much to place them at once in
finely constructed buildings, I felt that it would be following out a
more natural process of development to teach them how to construct
their own buildings. Mistakes I knew would be made, but these mistakes
would teach us valuable lessons for the future.

During the now nineteen years’ existence of the Tuskegee school, the
plan of having the buildings erected by student labour has been
adhered to. In this time forty buildings, counting small and large,
have been built, and all except four are almost wholly the product of
student labour. As an additional result, hundreds of men are now scattered
throughout the South who received their knowledge of mechanics while
being taught how to erect these buildings. Skill and knowledge are now
handed150 down from one set of students to another in this way, until at
the present time a building of any description or size can be
constructed wholly by our instructors and students, from the drawing
of the plans to the putting in of the electric fixtures, without going
off the grounds for a single workman.

Not a few times, when a new student has been led into the temptation
of marring the looks of some building by leadpencil marks or by the
cuts of a jack-knife, I have heard an old student remind him: “Don’t
do that. That is our building. I helped put it up.”

In the early days of the school I think my most trying experience was
in the matter of brickmaking. As soon as we got the farm work
reasonably well started, we directed our next efforts toward the
industry of making bricks. We needed these for use in connection with
the erection of our own buildings; but there was also another reason
for establishing this industry. There was no brickyard in the town,
and in addition to our own needs there was a demand for bricks in the
general market.

I had always sympathized with the “Children of Israel,” in their task
of “making bricks without straw,” but ours was the task of making
bricks with no money and no experience.

In151 the first place, the work was hard and dirty, and it was difficult
to get the students to help. When it came to brickmaking, their
distaste for manual labour in connection with book education became
especially manifest. It was not a pleasant task for one to stand in
the mud-pit for hours, with the mud up to his knees. More than one man
became disgusted and left the school.

We tried several locations before we opened up a pit that furnished
brick clay. I had always supposed that brickmaking was very simple,
but I soon found out by bitter experience that it required special
skill and knowledge, particularly in the burning of the bricks. After
a good deal of effort we moulded about twenty-five thousand bricks,
and put them into a kiln to be burned. This kiln turned out to be a
failure, because it was not properly constructed or properly burned.
We began at once, however, on a second kiln. This, for some reason,
also proved a failure. The failure of this kiln made it still more
difficult to get the students to take any part in the work. Several of
the teachers, however, who had been trained in the industries at
Hampton, volunteered their services, and in some way we succeeded in
getting a third kiln ready for burning. The burning of a kiln required
about a week. Toward the latter
part152 of the week, when it seemed as if we were going to have a good
many thousand bricks in a few hours, in the middle of the night the
kiln fell. For the third time we had failed.

The failure of this last kiln left me without a single dollar with
which to make another experiment. Most of the teachers advised the
abandoning of the effort to make bricks. In the midst of my troubles I
thought of a watch which had come into my possession years before. I
took this watch to the city of Montgomery, which was not far distant,
and placed it in a pawn-shop. I secured cash upon it to the amount of
fifteen dollars, with which to renew the brickmaking experiment. I
returned to Tuskegee, and, with the help of the fifteen dollars,
rallied our rather demoralized and discouraged forces and began a
fourth attempt to make bricks. This time, I am glad to say, we were
successful. Before I got hold of any money, the time-limit on my watch
had expired, and I have never seen it since; but I have never
regretted the loss of it.

Brickmaking has now become such an important industry at the school
that last season our students manufactured twelve hundred thousand of
first-class bricks, of a quality suitable to be sold in any market.
Aside from this, scores of young men have
mastered153 the brickmaking trade—both the making of bricks by hand
and by machinery—and are now engaged in this industry in many parts
of the South.

The making of these bricks taught me an important lesson in regard to
the relations of the two races in the South. Many white people who had
had no contact with the school, and perhaps no sympathy with it, came
to us to buy bricks because they found out that ours were good bricks.
They discovered that we were supplying a real want in the community.
The making of these bricks caused many of the white residents of the
neighbourhood to begin to feel that the education of the Negro was not
making him worthless, but that in educating our students we were
adding something to the wealth and comfort of the community. As the
people of the neighbourhood came to us to buy bricks, we got
acquainted with them; they traded with us and we with them. Our
business interests became intermingled. We had something which they
wanted; they had something which we wanted. This, in a large measure,
helped to lay the foundation for the pleasant relations that have
continued to exist between us and the white people in that section,
and which now extend throughout the South.

Wherever154 one of our brickmakers has gone in the South, we find that
he has something to contribute to the well-being of the community into
which he has gone; something that has made the community feel that, in
a degree, it is indebted to him, and perhaps, to a certain extent,
dependent upon him. In this way pleasant relations between the races
have been stimulated.

My experience is that there is something in human nature which always
makes an individual recognize and reward merit, no matter under what
colour of skin merit is found. I have found, too, that it is the
visible, the tangible, that goes a long ways in softening prejudices.
The actual sight of a first-class house that a Negro has built is ten
times more potent than pages of discussion about a house that he ought
to build, or perhaps could build.

The same principle of industrial education has been carried out in
the building of our own wagons, carts, and buggies, from the first. We
now own and use on our farm and about the school dozens of these
vehicles, and every one of them has been built by the hands of the
students. Aside from this, we help supply the local market with these
vehicles. The supplying of them to the people in the community has had
the same effect as the supplying of bricks, and the man who learns at
Tuskegee155 to build and repair wagons and carts is regarded as a benefactor by
both races in the community where he goes. The people with whom he
lives and works are going to think twice before they part with such a
man.

The individual who can do something that the world wants done will,
in the end, make his way regardless of his race. One man may go into a
community prepared to supply the people there with an analysis of
Greek sentences. The community may not at that time be prepared for,
or feel the need of, Greek analysis, but it may feel its need of
bricks and houses and wagons. If the man can supply the need for
those, then, it will lead eventually to a demand for the first
product, and with the demand will come the ability to appreciate it
and to profit by it.

About the time that we succeeded in burning our first kiln of bricks
we began facing in an emphasized form the objection of the students to
being taught to work. By this time it had gotten to be pretty well
advertised throughout the state that every student who came to Tuskegee,
no matter what his financial ability might be, must learn some industry.
Quite a number of letters came from parents protesting against their
children engaging in labour while they were in the school. Other
parents156 came to the school to protest in person. Most of the new
students brought a written or a verbal request from their parents to
the effect that they wanted their children taught nothing but books.
The more books, the larger they were, and the longer the titles
printed upon them, the better pleased the students and their parents
seemed to be.

I gave little heed to these protests, except that I lost no
opportunity to go into as many parts of the state as I could, for the
purpose of speaking to the parents, and showing them the value of
industrial education. Besides, I talked to the students constantly on
the subject. Notwithstanding the unpopularity of industrial work, the
school continued to increase in numbers to such an extent that by the
middle of the second year there was an attendance of about one hundred
and fifty, representing almost all parts of the state of Alabama, and
including a few from other states.

In the summer of 1882 Miss Davidson and I both went North and engaged
in the work of raising funds for the completion of our new building.
On my way North I stopped in New York to try to get a letter of
recommendation from an officer of a missionary organization who had
become somewhat acquainted with me a few years previous. This man not
only refused to give me the letter,
but157 advised me most earnestly to go back home at once, and not make
an attempt to get money, for he was quite sure that I would never get
more than enough to pay my travelling expenses. I thanked him for his
advice, and proceeded on my journey.

The first place I went to in the North, was Northampton, Mass., where
I spent nearly a half-day in looking for a coloured family with whom I
could board, never dreaming that any hotel would admit me. I was
greatly surprised when I found that I would have no trouble in being
accommodated at a hotel.

We were successful in getting money enough so that on Thanksgiving
Day of that year we held our first service in the chapel of Porter
Hall, although the building was not completed.

In looking about for some one to preach the Thanksgiving sermon, I
found one of the rarest men that it has ever been my privilege to
know. This was the Rev. Robert C. Bedford, a white man from Wisconsin,
who was then pastor of a little coloured Congregational church in
Montgomery, Ala. Before going to Montgomery to look for some one to
preach this sermon I had never heard of Mr. Bedford. He had never
heard of me. He gladly consented to come to Tuskegee and hold the
Thanksgiving service. It was the first service of the kind that the
coloured people there had ever
observed, 158 and what a deep interest they manifested in it! The sight
of the new building made it a day of Thanksgiving for them never to be
forgotten.

Mr. Bedford consented to become one of the trustees of the school,
and in that capacity, and as a worker for it, he has been connected
with it for eighteen years. During this time he has borne the school
upon his heart night and day, and is never so happy as when he is
performing some service, no matter how humble, for it. He completely
obliterates himself in everything, and looks only for permission to
serve where service is most disagreeable, and where others would not
be attracted. In all my relations with him he has seemed to me to
approach as nearly to the spirit of the Master as almost any man I
ever met.

A little later there came into the service of the school another man,
quite young at the time, and fresh from Hampton, without whose service
the school never could have become what it is. This was Mr. Warren
Logan, who now for seventeen years has been the treasurer of the
Institute, and the acting principal during my absence. He has always
shown a degree of unselfishness and an amount of business tact,
coupled with a clear judgment, that has kept the school in good
condition no matter how long I have been absent from it.
During159 all the financial stress through which the school has passed,
his patience and faith in our ultimate success have not left him.

As soon as our first building was near enough to completion so that
we could occupy a portion of it—which was near the middle of the
second year of the school—we opened a boarding department. Students
had begun coming from quite a distance, and in such increasing numbers
that we felt more and more that we were merely skimming over the
surface, in that we were not getting hold of the students in their
home life.

We had nothing but the students and their appetites with which to
begin a boarding department. No provision had been made in the new
building for a kitchen and dining room; but we discovered that by
digging out a large amount of earth from under the building we could
make a partially lighted basement room that could be used for a
kitchen and dining room. Again I called on the students to volunteer
for work, this time to assist in digging out the basement. This they
did, and in a few weeks we had a place to cook and eat in, although it
was very rough and uncomfortable. Any one seeing the place now would
never believe that it was once used for a dining room.

The most serious problem, though, was to get
the160 boarding department started off in running order, with nothing to
do with in the way of furniture, and with no money with which to buy
anything. The merchants in the town would let us have what food we
wanted on credit. In fact, in those earlier years I was constantly
embarrassed because people seemed to have more faith in me than I had
in myself. It was pretty hard to cook, however, without stoves, and
awkward to eat without dishes. At first the cooking was done out-of-doors,
in the old-fashioned, primitive style, in pot and skillets placed over
a fire. Some of the carpenters’ benches that had been used
in the construction of the building were utilized for tables. As for
dishes, there were too few to make it worth while to spend time in
describing them.

No one connected with the boarding department seemed to have any idea
that meals must be served at certain fixed and regular hours, and this
was a source of great worry. Everything was so out of joint and so
inconvenient that I feel safe in saying that for the first two weeks
something was wrong at every meal. Either the meat was not done or had
been burnt, or the salt had been left out of the bread, or the tea had
been forgotten.

Early one morning I was standing near the dining-room door listening
to the complaints of
the161 students. The complaints that morning were especially emphatic
and numerous, because the whole breakfast had been a failure. One of
the girls who had failed to get any breakfast came out and went to the
well to draw some water to drink to take the place of the breakfast
which she had not been able to get. When she reached the well, she
found that the rope was broken and that she could get no water. She
turned from the well and said, in the most discouraged tone, not
knowing that I was where I could hear her, “We can’t even get water to
drink at this school.” I think no one remark ever came so near
discouraging me as that one.

At another time, when Mr. Bedford—whom I have already spoken of as
one of our trustees, and a devoted friend of the institution—was
visiting the school, he was given a bedroom immediately over the
dining room. Early in the morning he was awakened by a rather animated
discussion between two boys in the dining room below. The discussion
was over the question as to whose turn it was to use the coffee-cup
that morning. One boy won the case by proving that for three mornings
he had not had an opportunity to use the cup at all.

But gradually, by patience and hard work, we brought order out of
chaos, just as will be true of
any162 problem if we stick to it with patience and wisdom and earnest
effort.

As I look back now over that part of our struggle, I am glad that we
had it. I am glad that we endured all those discomforts and
inconveniences. I am glad that our students had to dig out the place
for their kitchen and dining room. I am glad that our first boarding-place
was in that dismal, ill-lighted, and damp basement. Had we
started in a fine, attractive, convenient room, I fear we would have
“lost our heads” and become “stuck up.” It means a great deal, I
think, to start off on a foundation which one has made for one’s self.

When our old students return to Tuskegee now, as they often do, and
go into our large, beautiful, well-ventilated, and well-lighted dining
room, and see tempting, well-cooked food—largely grown by the
students themselves—and see tables, neat tablecloths and napkins,
and vases of flowers upon the tables, and hear singing birds, and note
that each meal is served exactly upon the minute, with no disorder,
and with almost no complaint coming from the hundreds that now fill
our dining room, they, too, often say to me that they are glad that we
started as we did, and built ourselves up year by year, by a slow and
natural process of growth.

CHAPTER XI

MAKING THEIR BEDS BEFORE THEY COULD LIE ON THEM

A

LITTLE later in the history of the school we had a visit from
General J. F. B. Marshall, the Treasurer of the Hampton Institute, who
had had faith enough to lend us the first two hundred and fifty
dollars with which to make a payment down on the farm. He remained
with us a week, and made a careful inspection of everything. He seemed
well pleased with our progress, and wrote back interesting and
encouraging reports to Hampton. A little later Miss Mary F. Mackie,
the teacher who had given me the “sweeping” examination when I entered
Hampton, came to see us, and still later General Armstrong himself came.

At the time of the visits of these Hampton friends the number of
teachers at Tuskegee had increased considerably, and the most of the
new teachers were graduates of the Hampton Institute. We gave our
Hampton friends, especially General Armstrong, a cordial welcome. They
were all surprised and pleased
at164 the rapid progress that the school had made within so short a
time. The coloured people from miles around came to the school to get
a look at General Armstrong, about whom they had heard so much. The
General was not only welcomed by the members of my own race, but by
the Southern white people as well.

This first visit which General Armstrong made to Tuskegee gave me an
opportunity to get an insight into his character such as I had not
before had. I refer to his interest in the Southern white people.
Before this I had had the thought that General Armstrong, having
fought the Southern white man, rather cherished a feeling of
bitterness toward the white South, and was interested in helping only
the coloured man there. But this visit convinced me that I did not
know the greatness and the generosity of the man. I soon learned, by
his visits to the Southern white people, and from his conversations
with them, that he was as anxious about the prosperity and the
happiness of the white race as the black. He cherished no bitterness
against the South, and was happy when an opportunity offered for
manifesting his sympathy. In all my acquaintance with General
Armstrong I never heard him speak, in public or in private, a single
bitter word against the white man in the South. From his
example165 in this respect I learned the lesson that great men cultivate
love, and that only little men cherish a spirit of hatred. I learned
that assistance given to the weak makes the one who gives it strong;
and that oppression of the unfortunate makes one weak.

It is now long ago that I learned this lesson from General Armstrong,
and resolved that I would permit no man, no matter what his colour
might be, to narrow and degrade my soul by making me hate him. With
God’s help, I believe that I have completely rid myself of any ill
feeling toward the Southern white man for any wrong that he may have
inflicted upon my race. I am made to feel just as happy now when I am
rendering service to Southern white men as when the service is
rendered to a member of my own race. I pity from the bottom of my
heart any individual who is so unfortunate as to get into the habit of
holding race prejudice.

The more I consider the subject, the more strongly I am convinced
that the most harmful effect of the practice to which the people in
certain sections of the South have felt themselves compelled to
resort, in order to get rid of the force of the Negroes’ ballot, is
not wholly in the wrong done to the Negro, but in the permanent injury to the
morals166 of the white man. The wrong to the Negro is temporary, but to
the morals of the white man the injury is permanent. I have noted time
and time again that when an individual perjures himself in order to
break the force of the black man’s ballot, he soon learns to practise
dishonesty in other relations of life, not only where the Negro is
concerned, but equally so where a white man is concerned. The white
man who begins by cheating a Negro usually ends by cheating a white
man. The white man who begins to break the law by lynching a Negro
soon yields to the temptation to lynch a white man. All this, it seems
to me, makes it important that the whole Nation lend a hand in trying
to lift the burden of ignorance from the South.

Another thing that is becoming more apparent each year in the
development of education in the South is the influence of General
Armstrong’s idea of education; and this not upon the blacks alone, but
upon the whites also. At the present time there is almost no Southern
state that is not putting forth efforts in the direction of securing
industrial education for its white boys and girls, and in most cases
it is easy to trace the history of these efforts back to General
Armstrong.

Soon after the opening of our humble boarding department students
began coming to us in still
larger167 numbers. For weeks we not only had to contend with the
difficulty of providing board, with no money, but also with that of
providing sleeping accommodations. For this purpose we rented a number
of cabins near the school. These cabins were in a dilapidated
condition, and during the winter months the students who occupied them
necessarily suffered from the cold. We charged the students eight
dollars a month—all they were able to pay—for their board. This
included, besides board, room, fuel, and washing. We also gave the
students credit on their board bills for all the work which they did
for the school which was of any value to the institution. The cost of
tuition, which was fifty dollars a year for each student, we had to
secure then, as now, wherever we could.

This small charge in cash gave us no capital with which to start a
boarding department. The weather during the second winter of our work
was very cold. We were not able to provide enough bed-clothes to keep
the students warm. In fact, for some time we were not able to provide,
except in a few cases, bedsteads and mattresses of any kind. During
the coldest nights I was so troubled about the discomfort of the
students that I could not sleep myself. I recall that on several
occasions I went in the middle of the night to the shanties
occupied168 by the young men, for the purpose of comforting them. Often
I found some of them sitting huddled around a fire, with the one
blanket which we had been able to provide wrapped around them, trying
in this way to keep warm. During the whole night some of them did not
attempt to lie down. One morning, when the night previous had been
unusually cold, I asked those of the students in the chapel who
thought that they had been frostbitten during the night to raise their
hands. Three hands went up. Notwithstanding these experiences, there
was almost no complaining on the part of the students. They knew that
we were doing the best that we could for them. They were happy in the
privilege of being permitted to enjoy any kind of opportunity that
would enable them to improve their condition. They were constantly
asking what they might do to lighten the burdens of the teachers.

I have heard it stated more than once, both in the North and in the
South, that coloured people would not obey and respect each other when
one member of the race is placed in a position of authority over
others. In regard to this general belief and these statements, I can
say that during the nineteen years of my experience at Tuskegee I
never, either by word or act, have been treated
with169 disrespect by any student or officer connected with the
institution. On the other hand, I am constantly embarrassed by the
many acts of thoughtful kindness. The students do not seem to want to
see me carry a large book or a satchel or any kind of a burden through
the grounds. In such cases more than one always offers to relieve me.
I almost never go out of my office when the rain is falling that some
student does not come to my side with an umbrella and ask to be
allowed to hold it over me.

While writing upon this subject, it is a pleasure for me to add that
in all my contact with the white people of the South I have never
received a single personal insult. The white people in and near
Tuskegee, to an especial degree, seem to count it a privilege to show
me all the respect within their power, and often go out of their way
to do this.

Not very long ago I was making a journey between Dallas (Texas) and
Houston. In some way it became known in advance that I was on the
train. At nearly every station at which the train stopped, numbers of
white people, including in most cases the officials of the town, came
aboard and introduced themselves and thanked me heartily for the work
that I was trying to do for the South.

On another occasion, when I was making a trip
from170 Augusta, Georgia, to Atlanta, being rather tired from much
travel, I rode in a Pullman sleeper. When I went into the car, I found
there two ladies from Boston whom I knew well. These good ladies were
perfectly ignorant, it seems, of the customs of the South, and in the
goodness of their hearts insisted that I take a seat with them in
their section. After some hesitation I consented. I had been there but
a few minutes when one of them, without my knowledge, ordered supper
to be served to the three of us. This embarrassed me still further.
The car was full of Southern white men, most of whom had their eyes on
our party. When I found that supper had been ordered, I tried to
contrive some excuse that would permit me to leave the section, but
the ladies insisted that I must eat with them. I finally settled back
in my seat with a sigh, and said to myself, “I am in for it now, sure.”

To add further to the embarrassment of the situation, soon after the
supper was placed on the table one of the ladies remembered that she
had in her satchel a special kind of tea which she wished served, and
as she said she felt quite sure the porter did not know how to brew it
properly, she insisted upon getting up and preparing and serving it
herself. At last the meal was over; and it seemed the
longest171 one that I had ever eaten. When we were through, I decided to
get myself out of the embarrassing situation and go into the smoking-room,
where most of the men were by that time, to see how the land
lay. In the meantime, however, it had become known in some way
throughout the car who I was. When I went into the smoking-room I was
never more surprised in my life than when each man, nearly every one
of them a citizen of Georgia, came up and introduced himself to me and
thanked me earnestly for the work that I was trying to do for the
whole South. This was not flattery, because each one of these
individuals knew that he had nothing to gain by trying to flatter me.

From the first I have sought to impress the students with the idea
that Tuskegee is not my institution, or that of the officers, but that
it is their institution, and that they have as much interest in it as
any of the trustees or instructors. I have further sought to have them
feel that I am at the institution as their friend and adviser, and not
as their overseer. It has been my aim to have them speak with
directness and frankness about anything that concerns the life of the
school. Two or three times a year I ask the students to write me a
letter criticising or making complaints or suggestions about anything
connected with the institution. When
this172 is not done, I have them meet me in the chapel for a heart-to-heart
talk about the conduct of the school. There are no meetings with
our students that I enjoy more than these, and none are more helpful
to me in planning for the future. These meetings, it seems to me,
enable me to get at the very heart of all that concerns the school.
Few things help an individual more than to place responsibility upon
him, and to let him know that you trust him. When I have read of
labour troubles between employers and employees, I have often thought
that many strikes and similar disturbances might be avoided if the
employers would cultivate the habit of getting nearer to their
employees, of consulting and advising with them, and letting them feel
that the interests of the two are the same. Every individual responds
to confidence, and this is not more true of any race than of the
Negroes. Let them once understand that you are unselfishly interested
in them, and you can lead them to any extent.

It was my aim from the first at Tuskegee to not only have the
buildings erected by the students themselves, but to have them make
their own furniture as far as was possible. I now marvel at the
patience of the students while sleeping upon the floor while waiting
for some kind of a bedstead to
be173 constructed, or at their sleeping without any kind of a mattress
while waiting for something that looked like a mattress to be made.

In the early days we had very few students who had been used to
handling carpenters’ tools, and the bedsteads made by the students
then were very rough and very weak. Not unfrequently when I went into
the students’ rooms in the morning I would find at least two bedsteads
lying about on the floor. The problem of providing mattresses was a
difficult one to solve. We finally mastered this, however, by getting
some cheap cloth and sewing pieces of this together so as to make
large bags. These bags we filled with the pine straw—or, as it is
sometimes called, pine needles—which we secured from the forests
near by. I am glad to say that the industry of mattress-making has
grown steadily since then, and has been improved to such an extent
that at the present time it is an important branch of the work which
is taught systematically to a number of our girls, and that the
mattresses that now come out of the mattress-shop at Tuskegee are
about as good as those bought in the average store. For some time
after the opening of the boarding department we had no chairs in the
students’ bedrooms or in the dining rooms. Instead of chairs we used
stools which the students
constructed174 by nailing together three pieces of rough board. As a
rule, the furniture in the students’ rooms during the early days of
the school consisted of a bed, some stools, and sometimes a rough
table made by the students. The plan of having the students make the
furniture is still followed, but the number of pieces in a room has
been increased, and the workmanship has so improved that little fault
can be found with the articles now. One thing that I have always
insisted upon at Tuskegee is that everywhere there should be absolute
cleanliness. Over and over again the students were reminded in those
first years—and are reminded now—that people would excuse us for
our poverty, for our lack of comforts and conveniences, but that they
would not excuse us for dirt.

Another thing that has been insisted upon at the school is the use of
the tooth-brush. “The gospel of the tooth-brush,” as General Armstrong
used to call it, is a part of our creed at Tuskegee. No student is
permitted to remain who does not keep and use a tooth-brush. Several
times, in recent years, students have come to us who brought with them
almost no other article except a tooth-brush. They had heard from the
lips of older students about our insisting upon the use of this, and
so, to make a good impression, they brought at least a
tooth-brush175 with them. I remember that one morning, not long ago, I
went with the lady principal on her usual morning tour of inspection
of the girls’ rooms. We found one room that contained three girls who
had recently arrived at the school. When I asked them if they had
tooth-brushes, one of the girls replied, pointing to a brush: “Yes,
sir. That is our brush. We bought it together, yesterday.” It did not
take them long to learn a different lesson.

It has been interesting to note the effect that the use of the tooth-brush
has had in bringing about a higher degree of civilization among
the students. With few exceptions, I have noticed that, if we can get
a student to the point where, when the first or second tooth-brush
disappears, he of his own motion buys another, I have not been
disappointed in the future of that individual. Absolute cleanliness of
the body has been insisted upon from the first. The students have been
taught to bathe as regularly as to take their meals. This lesson we
began teaching before we had anything in the shape of a bath-house.
Most of the students came from plantation districts, and often we had
to teach them how to sleep at night; that is, whether between the two
sheets—after we got to the point where we could provide them two
sheets—or under both of them. Naturally I found it difficult to
teach them to sleep
between176 two sheets when we were able to supply but one. The
importance of the use of the night-gown received the same attention.

For a long time one of the most difficult tasks was to teach the
students that all the buttons were to be kept on their clothes, and
that there must be no torn places and no grease-spots. This lesson, I
am pleased to be able to say, has been so thoroughly learned and so
faithfully handed down from year to year by one set of students to
another that often at the present time, when the students march out of
chapel in the evening and their dress is inspected, as it is every
night, not one button is to be found missing.

CHAPTER XII

RAISING MONEY

W

HEN we opened our boarding department, we provided rooms in the
attic of Porter Hall, our first building, for a number of girls. But
the number of students, of both sexes, continued to increase. We could
find rooms outside the school grounds for many of the young men, but
the girls we did not care to expose in this way. Very soon the problem
of providing more rooms for the girls, as well as a larger boarding
department for all the students, grew serious. As a result, we finally
decided to undertake the construction of a still larger building—a
building that would contain rooms for the girls and boarding
accommodations for all.

After having had a preliminary sketch of the needed building made, we
found that it would cost about ten thousand dollars. We had no money
whatever with which to begin; still we decided to give the needed building
a name. We knew we could name it, even though we were in doubt about
our178 ability to secure the means for its construction. We decided to
call the proposed building Alabama Hall, in honour of the state in
which we were labouring. Again Miss Davidson began making efforts to
enlist the interest and help of the coloured and white people in and
near Tuskegee. They responded willingly, in proportion to their means.
The students, as in the case of our first building, Porter Hall, began
digging out the dirt in order to allow of the laying of the foundations.

When we seemed at the end of our resources, so far as securing money
was concerned, something occurred which showed the greatness of
General Armstrong—something which proved how far he was above the
ordinary individual. When we were in the midst of great anxiety as to
where and how we were to get funds for the new building, I received a
telegram from General Armstrong asking me if I could spend a month
travelling with him through the North, and asking me, if I could do
so, to come to Hampton at once. Of course I accepted General
Armstrong’s invitation, and went to Hampton immediately. On arriving
there I found that the General had decided to take a quartette of
singers through the North, and hold meetings for a month in important
cities, at which meetings he and I were to speak. Imagine my surprise when
the179 General told me, further, that these meetings were to be held,
not in the interests of Hampton, but in the interests of Tuskegee, and
that the Hampton Institute was to be responsible for all the expenses.

Although he never told me so in so many words, I found out that
General Armstrong took this method of introducing me to the people of
the North, as well as for the sake of securing some immediate funds to
be used in the erection of Alabama Hall. A weak and narrow man would
have reasoned that all the money which came to Tuskegee in this way
would be just so much taken from the Hampton Institute; but none of
these selfish or short-sighted feelings ever entered the breast of
General Armstrong. He was too big to be little, too good to be mean.
He knew that the people in the North who gave money gave it for the
purpose of helping the whole cause of Negro civilization, and not
merely for the advancement of any one school. The General knew, too,
that the way to strengthen Hampton was to make it a centre of
unselfish power in the working out of the whole Southern problem.

In regard to the addresses which I was to make in the North, I recall just
one piece of advice which the General gave me. He said: “Give them an
idea180 for every word.” I think it would be hard to improve upon this
advice; and it might be made to apply to all public speaking. From
that time to the present I have always tried to keep his advice in mind.

Meetings were held in New York, Brooklyn, Boston, Philadelphia, and
other large cities, and at all of these meetings General Armstrong
pleaded, together with myself, for help, not for Hampton, but for
Tuskegee. At these meetings an especial effort was made to secure help
for the building of Alabama Hall, as well as to introduce the school
to the attention of the general public. In both these respects the
meetings proved successful.

After that kindly introduction I began going North alone to secure
funds. During the last fifteen years I have been compelled to spend a
large proportion of my time away from the school, in an effort to
secure money to provide for the growing needs of the institution. In
my efforts to get funds I have had some experiences that may be of
interest to my readers. Time and time again I have been asked, by
people who are trying to secure money for philanthropic purposes, what
rule or rules I followed to secure the interest and help of people who
were able to contribute money to worthy objects. As far as the science
of what is called begging can
be181 reduced to rules, I would say that I have had but two rules.
First, always to do my whole duty regarding making our work known to
individuals and organizations; and, second, not to worry about the
results. This second rule has been the hardest for me to live up to.
When bills are on the eve of falling due, with not a dollar in hand
with which to meet them, it is pretty difficult to learn not to worry,
although I think I am learning more and more each year that all worry
simply consumes, and to no purpose, just so much physical and mental
strength that might otherwise be given to effective work. After
considerable experience in coming into contact with wealthy and noted
men, I have observed that those who have accomplished the greatest
results are those who “keep under the body”; are those who never grow
excited or lose self-control, but are always calm, self-possessed,
patient, and polite. I think that President William McKinley is the
best example of a man of this class that I have ever seen.

In order to be successful in any kind of undertaking, I think the
main thing is for one to grow to the point where he completely forgets
himself; that is, to lose himself in a great cause. In proportion as
one loses himself in this way, in the same degree does he get the
highest happiness out of his work.

My182 experience in getting money for Tuskegee has taught me to have no
patience with those people who are always condemning the rich because
they are rich, and because they do not give more to objects of
charity. In the first place, those who are guilty of such sweeping
criticisms do not know how many people would be made poor, and how
much suffering would result, if wealthy people were to part all at
once with any large proportion of their wealth in a way to disorganize
and cripple great business enterprises. Then very few persons have any
idea of the large number of applications for help that rich people are
constantly being flooded with. I know wealthy people who receive as
many as twenty calls a day for help. More than once, when I have gone
into the offices of rich men, I have found half a dozen persons
waiting to see them, and all come for the same purpose, that of
securing money. And all these calls in person, to say nothing of the
applications received through the mails. Very few people have any idea
of the amount of money given away by persons who never permit their
names to be known. I have often heard persons condemned for not giving
away money, who, to my own knowledge, were giving away thousands of
dollars every year so quietly that the world knew nothing about it.

As183 an example of this, there are two ladies in New York, whose names
rarely appear in print, but who, in a quiet way, have given us the
means with which to erect three large and important buildings during
the last eight years. Besides the gift of these buildings, they have
made other generous donations to the school. And they not only help
Tuskegee, but they are constantly seeking opportunities to help other
worthy causes.

Although it has been my privilege to be the medium through which a
good many hundred thousand dollars have been received for the work at
Tuskegee, I have always avoided what the world calls “begging.” I
often tell people that I have never “begged” any money, and that I am
not a “beggar.” My experience and observation have convinced me that
persistent asking outright for money from the rich does not, as a
rule, secure help. I have usually proceeded on the principle that
persons who possess sense enough to earn money have sense enough to
know how to give it away, and that the mere making known of the facts
regarding Tuskegee, and especially the facts regarding the work of the
graduates, has been more effective than outright begging. I think that
the presentation of facts, on a high, dignified plane, is all the
begging that most rich people care for.

While184 the work of going from door to door and from office to office
is hard, disagreeable, and costly in bodily strength, yet it has some
compensations. Such work gives one a rare opportunity to study human
nature. It also has its compensations in giving one an opportunity to
meet some of the best people in the world—to be more correct, I
think I should say the best people in the world. When one takes a
broad survey of the country, he will find that the most useful and
influential people in it are those who take the deepest interest in
institutions that exist for the purpose of making the world better.

At one time, when I was in Boston, I called at the door of a rather
wealthy lady, and was admitted to the vestibule and sent up my card.
While I was waiting for an answer, her husband came in, and asked me
in the most abrupt manner what I wanted. When I tried to explain the
object of my call, he became still more ungentlemanly in his words and
manner, and finally grew so excited that I left the house without
waiting for a reply from the lady. A few blocks from that house I
called to see a gentleman who received me in the most cordial manner.
He wrote me his check for a generous sum, and then, before I had had
an opportunity to thank him, said: “I am so grateful to
you, 185 Mr. Washington, for giving me the opportunity to help a good
cause. It is a privilege to have a share in it. We in Boston are
constantly indebted to you for doing our work.” My experience in
securing money convinces me that the first type of man is growing more
rare all the time, and that the latter type is increasing; that is,
that, more and more, rich people are coming to regard men and women
who apply to them for help for worthy objects, not as beggars, but as
agents for doing their work.

In the city of Boston I have rarely called upon an individual for
funds that I have not been thanked for calling, usually before I could
get an opportunity to thank the donor for the money. In that city the
donors seem to feel, in a large degree, that an honour is being
conferred upon them in their being permitted to give. Nowhere else
have I met with, in so large a measure, this fine and Christlike
spirit as in the city of Boston, although there are many notable
instances of it outside that city. I repeat my belief that the world
is growing in the direction of giving. I repeat that the main rule by
which I have been guided in collecting money is to do my full duty in
regard to giving people who have money an opportunity to help.

In the early years of the Tuskegee school I
walked186 the streets or travelled country roads in the North for days
and days without receiving a dollar. Often it has happened, when
during the week I had been disappointed in not getting a cent from the
very individuals from whom I most expected help, and when I was almost
broken down and discouraged, that generous help has come from some one
who I had had little idea would give at all.

I recall that on one occasion I obtained information that led me to
believe that a gentleman who lived about two miles out in the country
from Stamford, Conn., might become interested in our efforts at
Tuskegee if our conditions and needs were presented to him. On an
unusually cold and stormy day I walked the two miles to see him. After
some difficulty I succeeded in securing an interview with him. He
listened with some degree of interest to what I had to say, but did
not give me anything. I could not help having the feeling that, in a
measure, the three hours that I had spent in seeing him had been
thrown away. Still, I had followed my usual rule of doing my duty. If
I had not seen him, I should have felt unhappy over neglect of duty.

Two years after this visit a letter came to Tuskegee from this man,
which read like this: “Enclosed I send you a New York draft for ten thousand
dollars, 187 to be used in furtherance of your work. I had placed this
sum in my will for your school, but deem it wiser to give it to you
while I live. I recall with pleasure your visit to me two years ago.”

I can hardly imagine any occurrence which could have given me more
genuine satisfaction than the receipt of this draft. It was by far the
largest single donation which up to that time the school had ever
received. It came at a time when an unusually long period had passed
since we had received any money. We were in great distress because of
lack of funds, and the nervous strain was tremendous. It is difficult
for me to think of any situation that is more trying on the nerves
than that of conducting a large institution, with heavy financial
obligations to meet, without knowing where the money is to come from
to meet these obligations from month to month.

In our case I felt a double responsibility, and this made the anxiety
all the more intense. If the institution had been officered by white
persons, and had failed, it would have injured the cause of Negro
education; but I knew that the failure of our institution, officered
by Negroes, would not only mean the loss of a school, but would cause
people, in a large degree, to lose faith in the ability of the entire
race. The receipt of this draft for ten thousand
dollars, 188 under all these circumstances, partially lifted a burden
that had been pressing down upon me for days.

From the beginning of our work to the present I have always had the
feeling, and lose no opportunity to impress our teachers with the same
idea, that the school will always be supported in proportion as the
inside of the institution is kept clean and pure and wholesome.

The first time I ever saw the late Collis P. Huntington, the great
railroad man, he gave me two dollars for our school. The last time I
saw him, which was a few months before he died, he gave me fifty
thousand dollars toward our endowment fund. Between these two gifts
there were others of generous proportions which came every year from
both Mr. and Mrs. Huntington.

Some people may say that it was Tuskegee’s good luck that brought to
us this gift of fifty thousand dollars. No, it was not luck. It was
hard work. Nothing ever comes to one, that is worth having, except as
a result of hard work. When Mr. Huntington gave me the first two
dollars, I did not blame him for not giving me more, but made up my
mind that I was going to convince him by tangible results that we were
worthy of larger gifts. For a dozen years I made a strong
effort189 to convince Mr. Huntington of the value of our work. I noted
that just in proportion as the usefulness of the school grew, his
donations increased. Never did I meet an individual who took a more
kindly and sympathetic interest in our school than did Mr. Huntington.
He not only gave money to us, but took time in which to advise me, as
a father would a son, about the general conduct of the school.

More than once I have found myself in some pretty tight places while
collecting money in the North. The following incident I have never
related but once before, for the reason that I feared that people
would not believe it. One morning I found myself in Providence, Rhode
Island, without a cent of money with which to buy breakfast. In
crossing the street to see a lady from whom I hoped to get some money,
I found a bright new twenty-five-cent piece in the middle of the
streetcar track. I not only had this twenty-five cents for my
breakfast, but within a few minutes I had a donation from the lady on
whom I had started to call.

At one of our Commencements I was bold enough to invite the Rev. E.
Winchester Donald, D.D., rector of Trinity Church, Boston, to preach
the Commencement sermon. As we then had no
room190 large enough to accommodate all who would be present, the place
of meeting was under a large, improvised arbour, built partly of brush
and partly of rough boards. Soon after Dr. Donald had begun speaking,
the rain came down in torrents, and he had to stop, while some one
held an umbrella over him.

The boldness of what I had done never dawned upon me until I saw the
picture made by the rector of Trinity Church standing before that
large audience under an old umbrella, waiting for the rain to cease so
that he could go on with his address.

It was not very long before the rain ceased and Dr. Donald finished
his sermon; and an excellent sermon it was, too, in spite of the
weather. After he had gone to his room, and had gotten the wet threads
of his clothes dry, Dr. Donald ventured the remark that a large chapel
at Tuskegee would not be out of place. The next day a letter came from
two ladies who were then travelling in Italy, saying that they had
decided to give us the money for such a chapel as we needed.

A short time ago we received twenty thousand dollars from Mr. Andrew
Carnegie, to be used for the purpose of erecting a new library
building. Our first library and reading-room were in a corner of a
shanty, and the whole thing occupied a space about five by twelve
feet. It required ten years of
work191 before I was able to secure Mr. Carnegie’s interest and help.
The first time I saw him, ten years ago, he seemed to take but little
interest in our school, but I was determined to show him that we were
worthy of his help. After ten years of hard work I wrote him a letter
reading as follows:

December 15, 1900.

Mr. Andrew Carnegie, 5 W. Fifty-first St., New York.

Dear Sir: Complying with the request which you made of me when I saw
you at your residence a few days ago, I now submit in writing an
appeal for a library building for our institution.

We have 1100 students, 86 officers and instructors, together with
their families, and about 200 coloured people living near the school,
all of whom would make use of the library building.

We have over 12,000 books, periodicals, etc., gifts from our friends,
but we have no suitable place for them, and we have no suitable
reading-room.

Our graduates go to work in every section of the South, and whatever
knowledge might be obtained in the library would serve to assist in
the elevation of the whole Negro race.

Such a building as we need could be erected for about $20,000. All of
the work for the building, such as brickmaking, brick-masonry,
carpentry, blacksmithing, etc., would be done by the students. The
money which you would give would not only supply the building, but the
erection192 of the building would give a large number of students an
opportunity to learn the building trades, and the students would use
the money paid to them to keep themselves in school. I do not believe
that a similar amount of money often could be made go so far in
uplifting a whole race.

If you wish further information, I shall be glad to furnish it.

Yours truly,

Booker T. Washington, Principal.

The next mail brought back the following reply:
“I will be very glad to pay the bills for the library building as
they are incurred, to the extent of twenty thousand dollars, and I am
glad of this opportunity to show the interest I have in your noble
work.”

I have found that strict business methods go a long way in securing
the interest of rich people. It has been my constant aim at Tuskegee
to carry out, in our financial and other operations, such business
methods as would be approved of by any New York banking house.

I have spoken of several large gifts to the school; but by far the
greater proportion of the money that has built up the institution has
come in the form of small donations from persons of moderate means. It
is upon these small gifts, which carry with them the interest of hundreds
of donors, that any philanthropic work must depend largely for its support.
In193 my efforts to get money I have often been surprised at the
patience and deep interest of the ministers, who are besieged on every
hand and at all hours of the day for help. If no other consideration
had convinced me of the value of the Christian life, the Christlike
work which the Church of all denominations in America has done during
the last thirty-five years for the elevation of the black man would
have made me a Christian. In a large degree it has been the pennies,
the nickels, and the dimes which have come from the Sunday-schools,
the Christian Endeavour societies, and the missionary societies, as
well as from the church proper, that have helped to elevate the Negro
at so rapid a rate.

This speaking of small gifts reminds me to say that very few Tuskegee
graduates fail to send us an annual contribution. These contributions
range from twenty-five cents up to ten dollars.

Soon after beginning our third year’s work we were surprised to
receive money from three special sources, and up to the present time
we have continued to receive help from them. First, the State
Legislature of Alabama increased its annual appropriation from two
thousand dollars to three thousand dollars; I might add that still
later it increased this sum to four thousand five hundred dollars a
year. The effort to secure this increase was led by the
Hon. 194 M. F. Foster, the member of the Legislature from Tuskegee.
Second, we received one thousand dollars from the John F. Slater Fund.
Our work seemed to please the trustees of this fund, as they soon
began increasing their annual grant. This has been added to from time
to time until at present we receive eleven thousand dollars annually
from this Fund. The other help to which I have referred came in the
shape of an allowance from the Peabody Fund. This was at first five
hundred dollars, but it has since been increased to fifteen hundred
dollars.

The effort to secure help from the Slater and Peabody Funds brought
me into contact with two rare men—men who have had much to do in
shaping the policy for the education of the Negro. I refer to the Hon.
J. L. M. Curry, of Washington, who is the general agent for these two
funds, and Mr. Morris K. Jesup, of New York. Dr. Curry is a native of
the South, an ex-Confederate soldier, yet I do not believe there is
any man in the country who is more deeply interested in the highest
welfare of the Negro than Dr. Curry, or one who is more free from race
prejudice. He enjoys the unique distinction of possessing to an equal
degree the confidence of the black man and the Southern white man. I shall
never forget the first time I met him. It was in Richmond, Va., where he was
then195 living. I had heard much about him. When I first went into his
presence, trembling because of my youth and inexperience, he took me
by the hand so cordially, and spoke such encouraging words, and gave
me such helpful advice regarding the proper course to pursue, that I
came to know him then, as I have known him ever since, as a high
example of one who is constantly and unselfishly at work for the
betterment of humanity.

Mr. Morris K. Jesup, the treasurer of the Slater Fund, I refer to
because I know of no man of wealth and large and complicated business
responsibilities who gives not only money but his time and thought to
the subject of the proper method of elevating the Negro to the extent
that is true of Mr. Jesup. It is very largely through his effort and
influence that during the last few years the subject of industrial
education has assumed the importance that it has, and been placed on
its present footing.

CHAPTER XIII

TWO THOUSAND MILES FOR A FIVE-MINUTE SPEECH

S

OON after the opening of our boarding department, quite a number of
students who evidently were worthy, but who were so poor that they did
not have any money to pay even the small charges at the school, began
applying for admission. This class was composed of both men and women.
It was a great trial to refuse admission to these applicants, and in
1884 we established a night-school to accommodate a few of them.

The night-school was organized on a plan similar to the one which I
had helped to establish at Hampton. At first it was composed of about
a dozen students. They were admitted to the night-school only when
they had no money with which to pay any part of their board in the
regular day-school. It was further required that they must work for
ten hours during the day at some trade or industry, and study academic
branches for two hours during the evening. This was the requirement
for the first one or two years of their stay.
They197 were to be paid something above the cost of their board, with
the understanding that all of their earnings, except a very small
part, were to be reserved in the school’s treasury, to be used for
paying their board in the regular day-school after they had entered
that department. The night-school, started in this manner, has grown
until there are at present four hundred and fifty-seven students
enrolled in it alone.

There could hardly be a more severe test of a student’s worth than
this branch of the Institute’s work. It is largely because it
furnishes such a good opportunity to test the backbone of a student
that I place such high value upon our night-school. Any one who is
willing to work ten hours a day at the brick-yard, or in the laundry,
through one or two years, in order that he or she may have the
privilege of studying academic branches for two hours in the evening,
has enough bottom to warrant being further educated.

After the student has left the night-school he enters the day-school,
where he takes academic branches four days in a week, and works at his
trade two days. Besides this he usually works at his trade during the
three summer months. As a rule, after a student has succeeded in going
through the night-school test, he finds a way to finish the
regular198 course in industrial and academic training. No student, no
matter how much money he may be able to command, is permitted to go
through school without doing manual labour. In fact, the industrial
work is now as popular as the academic branches. Some of the most
successful men and women who have graduated from the institution
obtained their start in the night-school.

While a great deal of stress is laid upon the industrial side of the
work at Tuskegee, we do not neglect or overlook in any degree the
religious and spiritual side. The school is strictly undenominational,
but it is thoroughly Christian, and the spiritual training of the
students is not neglected. Our preaching service, prayer-meetings,
Sunday-school, Christian Endeavour Society, Young Men’s Christian
Association, and various missionary organizations, testify to this.

In 1885, Miss Olivia Davidson, to whom I have already referred as
being largely responsible for the success of the school during its
early history, and I were married. During our married life she
continued to divide her time and strength between our home and the
work for the school. She not only continued to work in the school at
Tuskegee, but also kept up her habit of going North to secure funds.
In 1889 she died, after four years of happy
married199 life and eight years of hard and happy work for the school.
She literally wore herself out in her never ceasing efforts in behalf
of the work that she so dearly loved. During our married life there
were born to us two bright, beautiful boys, Baker Taliaferro and
Ernest Davidson. The older of these, Baker, has already mastered the
brickmaker’s trade at Tuskegee.

I have often been asked how I began the practice of public speaking.
In answer I would say that I never planned to give any large part of
my life to speaking in public. I have always had more of an ambition
to do things than merely to talk about doing them. It seems that when
I went North with General Armstrong to speak at the series of public
meetings to which I have referred, the President of the National
Educational Association, the Hon. Thomas W. Bicknell, was present at
one of those meetings and heard me speak. A few days afterward he sent
me an invitation to deliver an address at the next meeting of the
Educational Association. This meeting was to be held in Madison, Wis.
I accepted the invitation. This was, in a sense, the beginning of my
public-speaking career.

On the evening that I spoke before the Association there must have
been not far from four
thousand200 persons present. Without my knowing it, there were a large number of
people present from Alabama, and some from the town of Tuskegee. These
white people afterward frankly told me that they went to this meeting
expecting to hear the South roundly abused, but were pleasantly
surprised to find that there was no word of abuse in my address. On
the contrary, the South was given credit for all the praiseworthy
things that it had done. A white lady who was teacher in a college in
Tuskegee wrote back to the local paper that she was gratified, as well
as surprised, to note the credit which I gave the white people of
Tuskegee for their help in getting the school started. This address at
Madison was the first that I had delivered that in any large measure
dealt with the general problem of the races. Those who heard it seemed
to be pleased with what I said and with the general position that I
took.

When I first came to Tuskegee, I determined that I would make it my
home, that I would take as much pride in the right actions of the
people of the town as any white man could do, and that I would, at the
same time, deplore the wrong-doing of the people as much as any white
man. I determined never to say anything in a public address in the
North that I would not be willing to say in the
South. 201 I early learned that it is a hard matter to convert an
individual by abusing him, and that this is more often accomplished by
giving credit for all the praiseworthy actions performed than by
calling attention alone to all the evil done.

While pursuing this policy I have not failed, at the proper time and
in the proper manner, to call attention, in no uncertain terms, to the
wrongs which any part of the South has been guilty of. I have found
that there is a large element in the South that is quick to respond to
straightforward, honest criticism of any wrong policy. As a rule, the
place to criticise the South, when criticism is necessary, is in the
South—not in Boston. A Boston man who came to Alabama to criticise
Boston would not effect so much good, I think, as one who had his word
of criticism to say in Boston.

In this address at Madison I took the ground that the policy to be
pursued with reference to the races was, by every honourable means, to
bring them together and to encourage the cultivation of friendly
relations, instead of doing that which would embitter. I further
contended that, in relation to his vote, the Negro should more and
more consider the interests of the community in which he lived, rather
than seek alone to please some one who
lived202 a thousand miles away from him and from his interests.

In this address I said that the whole future of the Negro rested
largely upon the question as to whether or not he should make himself,
through his skill, intelligence, and character, of such undeniable
value to the community in which he lived that the community could not
dispense with his presence. I said that any individual who learned to
do something better than anybody else—learned to do a common thing
in an uncommon manner—had solved his problem, regardless of the
colour of his skin, and that in proportion as the Negro learned to
produce what other people wanted and must have, in the same proportion
would he be respected.

I spoke of an instance where one of our graduates had produced two
hundred and sixty-six bushels of sweet potatoes from an acre of
ground, in a community where the average production had been only
forty-nine bushels to the acre. He had been able to do this by reason
of his knowledge of the chemistry of the soil and by his knowledge of
improved methods of agriculture. The white farmers in the
neighbourhood respected him, and came to him for ideas regarding the
raising of sweet potatoes. These white farmers
honoured203 and respected him because he, by his skill and knowledge,
had added something to the wealth and the comfort of the community in
which he lived. I explained that my theory of education for the Negro
would not, for example, confine him for all time to farm life—to the
production of the best and the most sweet potatoes—but that, if he
succeeded in this line of industry, he could lay the foundations upon
which his children and grandchildren could grow to higher and more
important things in life.

Such, in brief, were some of the views I advocated in this first
address dealing with the broad question of the relations of the two
races, and since that time I have not found any reason for changing my
views on any important point.

In my early life I used to cherish a feeling of ill will toward any
one who spoke in bitter terms against the Negro, or who advocated
measures that tended to oppress the black man or take from him
opportunities for growth in the most complete manner. Now, whenever I
hear any one advocating measures that are meant to curtail the
development of another, I pity the individual who would do this. I
know that the one who makes this mistake does so because of his own lack
of opportunity for the highest kind of growth. I pity him because I know
that204 he is trying to stop the progress of the world, and because I
know that in time the development and the ceaseless advance of
humanity will make him ashamed of his weak and narrow position. One
might as well try to stop the progress of a mighty railroad train by
throwing his body across the track, as to try to stop the growth of
the world in the direction of giving mankind more intelligence, more
culture, more skill, more liberty, and in the direction of extending
more sympathy and more brotherly kindness.

The address which I delivered at Madison, before the National
Educational Association, gave me a rather wide introduction in the
North, and soon after that opportunities began offering themselves for
me to address audiences there.

I was anxious, however, that the way might also be opened for me to
speak directly to a representative Southern white audience. A partial
opportunity of this kind, one that seemed to me might serve as an
entering wedge, presented itself in 1893, when the international
meeting of Christian Workers was held at Atlanta, Ga. When this
invitation came to me, I had engagements in Boston that seemed to make
it impossible for me to speak in Atlanta. Still, after looking over my
list of dates and places carefully, I found that I could
take205 a train from Boston that would get me into Atlanta about thirty
minutes before my address was to be delivered, and that I could remain
in that city about sixty minutes before taking another train for
Boston. My invitation to speak in Atlanta stipulated that I was to
confine my address to five minutes. The question, then, was whether or
not I could put enough into a five-minute address to make it worth
while for me to make such a trip.

I knew that the audience would be largely composed of the most
influential class of white men and women, and that it would be a rare
opportunity for me to let them know what we were trying to do at
Tuskegee, as well as to speak to them about the relations of the
races. So I decided to make the trip. I spoke for five minutes to an
audience of two thousand people, composed mostly of Southern and
Northern whites. What I said seemed to be received with favour and
enthusiasm. The Atlanta papers of the next day commented in friendly
terms on my address, and a good deal was said about it in different
parts of the country. I felt that I had in some degree accomplished my
object—that of getting a hearing from the dominant class of the South.

The demands made upon me for public addresses continued to increase,
coming in about equal numbers from my own people and from Northern whites.
I206 gave as much time to these addresses as I could spare from the
immediate work at Tuskegee. Most of the addresses in the North were
made for the direct purpose of getting funds with which to support the
school. Those delivered before the coloured people had for their main
object the impressing upon them of the importance of industrial and
technical education in addition to academic and religious training.

I now come to that one of the incidents in my life which seems to
have excited the greatest amount of interest, and which perhaps went
further than anything else in giving me a reputation that in a sense
might be called National. I refer to the address which I delivered at
the opening of the Atlanta Cotton states and International Exposition,
at Atlanta, Ga., September 18, 1895.

So much has been said and written about this incident, and so many
questions have been asked me concerning the address, that perhaps I
may be excused for taking up the matter with some detail. The five-minute
address in Atlanta, which I came from Boston to deliver, was
possibly the prime cause for an opportunity being given me to make the
second address there. In the spring of 1895 I received a telegram from
prominent citizens in Atlanta asking me to accompany a committee from
that207 city to Washington for the purpose of appearing before a
committee of Congress in the interest of securing Government help for
the Exposition. The committee was composed of about twenty-five of the
most prominent and most influential white men of Georgia. All the
members of this committee were white men except Bishop Grant, Bishop
Gaines, and myself. The Mayor and several other city and state
officials spoke before the committee. They were followed by the two
coloured bishops. My name was the last on the list of speakers. I had
never before appeared before such a committee, nor had I ever
delivered any address in the capital of the Nation. I had many
misgivings as to what I ought to say, and as to the impression that my
address would make. While I cannot recall in detail what I said, I
remember that I tried to impress upon the committee, with all the
earnestness and plainness of any language that I could command, that
if Congress wanted to do something which would assist in ridding the
South of the race question and making friends between the two races,
it should, in every proper way, encourage the material and
intellectual growth of both races. I said that the Atlanta Exposition
would present an opportunity for both races to show what advance they
had made since freedom, and would at the same
time208 afford encouragement to them to make still greater progress.

I tried to emphasize the fact that while the Negro should not be
deprived by unfair means of the franchise, political agitation alone
would not save him, and that back of the ballot he must have property,
industry, skill, economy, intelligence, and character, and that no
race without these elements could permanently succeed. I said that in
granting the appropriation Congress could do something that would
prove to be of real and lasting value to both races, and that it was
the first great opportunity of the kind that had been presented since
the close of the Civil War.

I spoke for fifteen or twenty minutes, and was surprised at the close
of my address to receive the hearty congratulations of the Georgia
committee and of the members of Congress who were present. The
Committee was unanimous in making a favourable report, and in a few
days the bill passed Congress. With the passing of this bill the
success of the Atlanta Exposition was assured.

Soon after this trip to Washington the directors of the Exposition
decided that it would be a fitting recognition of the coloured race to
erect a large and attractive building which should be devoted wholly
to showing the progress of the Negro since freedom.
It209 was further decided to have the building designed and erected
wholly by Negro mechanics. This plan was carried out. In design,
beauty, and general finish the Negro Building was equal to the others
on the grounds.

After it was decided to have a separate Negro exhibit, the question
arose as to who should take charge of it. The officials of the
Exposition were anxious that I should assume this responsibility, but
I declined to do so, on the plea that the work at Tuskegee at that
time demanded my time and strength. Largely at my suggestion, Mr. I.
Garland Penn, of Lynchburg, Va., was selected to be at the head of the
Negro department. I gave him all the aid that I could. The Negro
exhibit, as a whole, was large and creditable. The two exhibits in
this department which attracted the greatest amount of attention were
those from the Hampton Institute and the Tuskegee Institute. The
people who seemed to be the most surprised, as well as pleased, at
what they saw in the Negro Building were the Southern white people.

As the day for the opening of the Exposition drew near, the Board of
Directors began preparing the programme for the opening exercises. In
the discussion from day to day of the various features of this
programme, the question came up as to the
advisability210 of putting a member of the Negro race on for one of the
opening addresses, since the Negroes had been asked to take such a
prominent part in the Exposition. It was argued, further, that such
recognition would mark the good feeling prevailing between the two
races. Of course there were those who were opposed to any such
recognition of the rights of the Negro, but the Board of Directors,
composed of men who represented the best and most progressive element
in the South, had their way, and voted to invite a black man to speak
on the opening day. The next thing was to decide upon the person who
was thus to represent the Negro race. After the question had been
canvassed for several days, the directors voted unanimously to ask me
to deliver one of the opening-day addresses, and in a few days after
that I received the official invitation.

The receiving of this invitation brought to me a sense of
responsibility that it would be hard for any one not placed in my
position to appreciate. What were my feelings when this invitation
came to me? I remembered that I had been a slave; that my early years
had been spent in the lowest depths of poverty and ignorance, and that
I had had little opportunity to prepare me for such a responsibility
as this. It was only a few years before that
time211 that any white man in the audience might have claimed me as his
slave; and it was easily possible that some of my former owners might
be present to hear me speak.

I knew, too, that this was the first time in the entire history of
the Negro that a member of my race had been asked to speak from the
same platform with white Southern men and women on any important
National occasion. I was asked now to speak to an audience composed of
the wealth and culture of the white South, the representatives of my
former masters. I knew, too, that while the greater part of my
audience would be composed of Southern people, yet there would be
present a large number of Northern whites, as well as a great many men
and women of my own race.

I was determined to say nothing that I did not feel from the bottom
of my heart to be true and right. When the invitation came to me,
there was not one word of intimation as to what I should say or as to
what I should omit. In this I felt that the Board of Directors had
paid a tribute to me. They knew that by one sentence I could have
blasted, in a large degree, the success of the Exposition. I was also
painfully conscious of the fact that, while I must be true to my own
race in my utterances, I had it in my power to make such an ill-timed
address212 as would result in preventing any similar invitation being
extended to a black man again for years to come. I was equally
determined to be true to the North, as well as to the best element of
the white South, in what I had to say.

The papers, North and South, had taken up the discussion of my coming
speech, and as the time for it drew near this discussion became more
and more widespread. Not a few of the Southern white papers were
unfriendly to the idea of my speaking. From my own race I received
many suggestions as to what I ought to say. I prepared myself as best
I could for the address, but as the eighteenth of September drew
nearer, the heavier my heart became, and the more I feared that my
effort would prove a failure and a disappointment.

The invitation had come at a time when I was very busy with my school
work, as it was the beginning of our school year. After preparing my
address, I went through it, as I usually do with all those utterances
which I consider particularly important, with Mrs. Washington, and she
approved of what I intended to say. On the sixteenth of September, the
day before I was to start for Atlanta, so many of the Tuskegee
teachers expressed a desire to hear my address that I consented to
read it to them in a body. When I had done so, and had
heard213 their criticisms and comments, I felt somewhat relieved, since
they seemed to think well of what I had to say.

On the morning of September 17, together with Mrs. Washington and my
three children, I started for Atlanta. I felt a good deal as I suppose
a man feels when he is on his way to the gallows. In passing through
the town of Tuskegee I met a white farmer who lived some distance out
in the country. In a jesting manner this man said: “Washington, you
have spoken before the Northern white people, the Negroes in the
South, and to us country white people in the South; but in Atlanta,
to-morrow, you will have before you the Northern whites, the Southern
whites, and the Negroes all together. I am afraid that you have got
yourself into a tight place.” This farmer diagnosed the situation
correctly, but his frank words did not add anything to my comfort.

In the course of the journey from Tuskegee to Atlanta both coloured
and white people came to the train to point me out, and discussed with
perfect freedom, in my hearing, what was going to take place the next
day. We were met by a committee in Atlanta. Almost the first thing
that I heard when I got off the train in that city was an expression
something like this, from an old coloured
man214 near by: “Dat’s de man of my race what’s gwine to make a speech
at de Exposition to-morrow. I’se sho’ gwine to hear him.”

Atlanta was literally packed, at the time, with people from all parts
of this country, and with representatives of foreign governments, as
well as with military and civic organizations. The afternoon papers
had forecasts of the next day’s proceedings in flaring headlines. All
this tended to add to my burden. I did not sleep much that night. The
next morning, before day, I went carefully over what I intended to
say. I also kneeled down and asked God’s blessing upon my effort.
Right here, perhaps, I ought to add that I make it a rule never to go
before an audience, on any occasion, without asking the blessing of
God upon what I want to say.

I always make it a rule to make especial preparation for each
separate address. No two audiences are exactly alike. It is my aim to
reach and talk to the heart of each individual audience, taking it
into my confidence very much as I would a person. When I am speaking
to an audience, I care little for how what I am saying is going to
sound in the newspapers, or to another audience, or to an individual.
At the time, the audience before me absorbs all my sympathy, thought,
and energy.

Early215 in the morning a committee called to escort me to my place in
the procession which was to march to the Exposition grounds. In this
procession were prominent coloured citizens in carriages, as well as
several Negro military organizations. I noted that the Exposition
officials seemed to go out of their way to see that all of the
coloured people in the procession were properly placed and properly
treated. The procession was about three hours in reaching the
Exposition grounds, and during all of this time the sun was shining
down upon us disagreeably hot. When we reached the grounds, the heat,
together with my nervous anxiety, made me feel as if I were about
ready to collapse, and to feel that my address was not going to be a
success. When I entered the audience-room, I found it packed with
humanity from bottom to top, and there were thousands outside who
could not get in.

The room was very large, and well suited to public speaking. When I
entered the room, there were vigorous cheers from the coloured portion
of the audience, and faint cheers from some of the white people. I had
been told, while I had been in Atlanta, that while many white people
were going to be present to hear me speak, simply out of curiosity, and
that others who would be present would be in full sympathy with me, there was
a216 still larger element of the audience which would consist of those
who were going to be present for the purpose of hearing me make a fool
of myself, or, at least, of hearing me say some foolish thing, so that
they could say to the officials who had invited me to speak, “I told
you so!”

One of the trustees of the Tuskegee Institute, as well as my personal
friend, Mr. William H. Baldwin, Jr. was at the time General Manager of
the Southern Railroad, and happened to be in Atlanta on that day. He
was so nervous about the kind of reception that I would have, and the
effect that my speech would produce, that he could not persuade
himself to go into the building, but walked back and forth in the
grounds outside until the opening exercises were over.

CHAPTER XIV

THE ATLANTA EXPOSITION ADDRESS

T

HE Atlanta Exposition, at which I had been asked to make an address
as a representative of the Negro race, as stated in the last chapter,
was opened with a short address from Governor Bullock. After other
interesting exercises, including an invocation from Bishop Nelson, of
Georgia, a dedicatory ode by Albert Howell, Jr., and addresses by the
President of the Exposition and Mrs. Joseph Thompson, the President of
the Woman’s Board, Governor Bullock introduced me with the words, “We
have with us to-day a representative of Negro enterprise and Negro
civilization.”

When I arose to speak, there was considerable cheering, especially
from the coloured people. As I remember it now, the thing that was
uppermost in my mind was the desire to say something that would cement
the friendship of the races and bring about hearty coöperation between
them. So far as my outward surroundings were concerned, the only
thing218 that I recall distinctly now is that when I got up, I saw
thousands of eyes looking intently into my face. The following is the
address which I delivered:—

Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Board of Directors and Citizens.

One-third of the population of the South is of the Negro race. No
enterprise seeking the material, civil, or moral welfare of this
section can disregard this element of our population and reach the
highest success. I but convey to you, Mr. President and Directors, the
sentiment of the masses of my race when I say that in no way have the
value and manhood of the American Negro been more fittingly and
generously recognized than by the managers of this magnificent
Exposition at every stage of its progress. It is a recognition that
will do more to cement the friendship of the two races than any
occurrence since the dawn of our freedom.

Not only this, but the opportunity here afforded will awaken among us
a new era of industrial progress. Ignorant and inexperienced, it is
not strange that in the first years of our new life we began at the top
instead of at the bottom; that a seat in Congress or the state legislature
was more sought than real estate or industrial skill; that the political
convention219 or stump speaking had more attractions than starting a
dairy farm or truck garden.

A ship lost at sea for many days suddenly sighted a friendly vessel.
From the mast of the unfortunate vessel was seen a signal, “Water,
water; we die of thirst!” The answer from the friendly vessel at once
came back, “Cast down your bucket where you are.” A second time the
signal, “Water, water; send us water!” ran up from the distressed
vessel, and was answered, “Cast down your bucket where you are.” And a
third and fourth signal for water was answered, “Cast down your bucket
where you are.” The captain of the distressed vessel, at last heeding
the injunction, cast down his bucket, and it came up full of fresh,
sparkling water from the mouth of the Amazon River. To those of my
race who depend on bettering their condition in a foreign land or who
underestimate the importance of cultivating friendly relations with
the Southern white man, who is their next-door neighbour, I would say:
“Cast down your bucket where you are”—cast it down in making friends
in every manly way of the people of all races by whom we are surrounded.

Cast it down in agriculture, mechanics, in commerce, in domestic
service, and in the professions. And in this connection it is well to
bear in mind that whatever other sins the South may be called to
bear, 220 when it comes to business, pure and simple, it is in the South
that the Negro is given a man’s chance in the commercial world, and in
nothing is this Exposition more eloquent than in emphasizing this
chance. Our greatest danger is that in the great leap from slavery to
freedom we may overlook the fact that the masses of us are to live by
the productions of our hands, and fail to keep in mind that we shall
prosper in proportion as we learn to dignify and glorify common labour
and put brains and skill into the common occupations of life; shall
prosper in proportion as we learn to draw the line between the
superficial and the substantial, the ornamental gewgaws of life and
the useful. No race can prosper till it learns that there is as much
dignity in tilling a field as in writing a poem. It is at the bottom
of life we must begin, and not at the top. Nor should we permit our
grievances to overshadow our opportunities.

To those of the white race who look to the incoming of those of
foreign birth and strange tongue and habits for the prosperity of the
South, were I permitted I would repeat what I say to my own race,
“Cast down your bucket where you are.” Cast it down among the eight
millions of Negroes whose habits you know, whose fidelity and love you
have tested in days when to have proved treacherous
meant221 the ruin of your firesides. Cast down your bucket among these
people who have, without strikes and labour wars, tilled your fields,
cleared your forests, builded your railroads and cities, and brought
forth treasures from the bowels of the earth, and helped make possible
this magnificent representation of the progress of the South. Casting
down your bucket among my people, helping and encouraging them as you
are doing on these grounds, and to education of head, hand, and heart,
you will find that they will buy your surplus land, make blossom the
waste places in your fields, and run your factories. While doing this,
you can be sure in the future, as in the past, that you and your
families will be surrounded by the most patient, faithful, law-abiding,
and unresentful people that the world has seen. As we have
proved our loyalty to you in the past, in nursing your children,
watching by the sick-bed of your mothers and fathers, and often
following them with tear-dimmed eyes to their graves, so in the
future, in our humble way, we shall stand by you with a devotion that
no foreigner can approach, ready to lay down our lives, if need be, in
defence of yours, interlacing our industrial, commercial, civil, and
religious life with yours in a way that shall make the interests of both
races one. In all things that are purely social we can be as separate
as222 the fingers, yet one as the hand in all things essential to mutual
progress.

There is no defence or security for any of us except in the highest
intelligence and development of all. If anywhere there are efforts
tending to curtail the fullest growth of the Negro, let these efforts
be turned into stimulating, encouraging, and making him the most
useful and intelligent citizen. Effort or means so invested will pay a
thousand per cent interest. These efforts will be twice
blessed—“blessing him that gives and him that takes.”

There is no escape through law of man or God from the inevitable:—

The laws of changeless justice bind
Oppressor with oppressed;
And close as sin and suffering joined
We march to fate abreast.

Nearly sixteen millions of hands will aid you in pulling the load
upward, or they will pull against you the load downward. We shall
constitute one-third and more of the ignorance and crime of the South,
or one-third its intelligence and progress; we shall contribute one-third
to the business and industrial prosperity of the South, or we
shall prove a veritable body of death, stagnating, depressing,
retarding every effort to advance the body politic.

Gentlemen223 of the Exposition, as we present to you our humble effort
at an exhibition of our progress, you must not expect overmuch.
Starting thirty years ago with ownership here and there in a few
quilts and pumpkins and chickens (gathered from miscellaneous
sources), remember the path that has led from these to the inventions
and production of agricultural implements, buggies, steam-engines,
newspapers, books, statuary, carving, paintings, the management of
drug-stores and banks, has not been trodden without contact with
thorns and thistles. While we take pride in what we exhibit as a
result of our independent efforts, we do not for a moment forget that
our part in this exhibition would fall far short of your expectations
but for the constant help that has come to our educational life, not
only from the Southern states, but especially from Northern
philanthropists, who have made their gifts a constant stream of
blessing and encouragement.

The wisest among my race understand that the agitation of questions
of social equality is the extremest folly, and that progress in the
enjoyment of all the privileges that will come to us must be the
result of severe and constant struggle rather than of artificial
forcing. No race that has anything to contribute to the markets of the
world is long in any degree ostracized. It is important and
right224 that all privileges of the law be ours, but it is vastly more
important that we be prepared for the exercises of these privileges.
The opportunity to earn a dollar in a factory just now is worth
infinitely more than the opportunity to spend a dollar in an
opera-house.

In conclusion, may I repeat that nothing in thirty years has given us
more hope and encouragement, and drawn us so near to you of the white
race, as this opportunity offered by the Exposition; and here bending,
as it were, over the altar that represents the results of the
struggles of your race and mine, both starting practically empty-handed
three decades ago, I pledge that in your effort to work out the
great and intricate problem which God has laid at the doors of the
South, you shall have at all times the patient, sympathetic help of my
race; only let this be constantly in mind, that, while from
representations in these buildings of the product of field, of forest,
of mine, of factory, letters, and art, much good will come, yet far
above and beyond material benefits will be that higher good, that, let
us pray God, will come, in a blotting out of sectional differences and
racial animosities and suspicions, in a determination to administer
absolute justice, in a willing obedience among all classes to the
mandates of law. This, this, coupled with our
material225 prosperity, will bring into our beloved South a new heaven
and a new earth.

The first thing that I remember, after I had finished speaking, was
that Governor Bullock rushed across the platform and took me by the
hand, and that others did the same. I received so many and such hearty
congratulations that I found it difficult to get out of the building.
I did not appreciate to any degree, however, the impression which my
address seemed to have made, until the next morning, when I went into
the business part of the city. As soon as I was recognized, I was
surprised to find myself pointed out and surrounded by a crowd of men
who wished to shake hands with me. This was kept up on every street on
to which I went, to an extent which embarrassed me so much that I went
back to my boarding-place. The next morning I returned to Tuskegee. At
the station in Atlanta, and at almost all of the stations at which the
train stopped between that city and Tuskegee, I found a crowd of
people anxious to shake hands with me.

The papers in all parts of the United States published the address in
full, and for months afterward there were complimentary editorial
references to it. Mr. Clark Howell, the editor of the Atlanta
Constitution, 226 telegraphed to a New York paper, among other words, the
following, “I do not exaggerate when I say that Professor Booker T.
Washington’s address yesterday was one of the most notable speeches,
both as to character and as to the warmth of its reception, ever
delivered to a Southern audience. The address was a revelation. The
whole speech is a platform upon which blacks and whites can stand with
full justice to each other.”

The Boston Transcript said editorially: “The speech of Booker T.
Washington at the Atlanta Exposition, this week, seems to have dwarfed
all the other proceedings and the Exposition itself. The sensation
that it has caused in the press has never been equalled.”

I very soon began receiving all kinds of propositions from lecture
bureaus, and editors of magazines and papers, to take the lecture
platform, and to write articles. One lecture bureau offered me fifty
thousand dollars, or two hundred dollars a night and expenses, if I
would place my services at its disposal for a given period. To all
these communications I replied that my life-work was at Tuskegee; and
that whenever I spoke it must be in the interests of the Tuskegee
school and my race, and that I would enter into no arrangements that
seemed227 to place a mere commercial value upon my services.

Some days after its delivery I sent a copy of my address to the
President of the United States, the Hon. Grover Cleveland. I received
from him the following autograph reply:—

Gray Gables, Buzzard’s Bay, Mass.,

October 6, 1895.

Booker T. Washington, Esq.:

My Dear Sir: I thank you for sending me a copy of your address
delivered at the Atlanta Exposition.

I thank you with much enthusiasm for making the address. I have read
it with intense interest, and I think the Exposition would be fully
justified if it did not do more than furnish the opportunity for its
delivery. Your words cannot fail to delight and encourage all who wish
well for your race; and if our coloured fellow-citizens do not from
your utterances gather new hope and form new determinations to gain
every valuable advantage offered them by their citizenship, it will be
strange indeed.

Yours very truly,

Grover Cleveland.

Later I met Mr. Cleveland, for the first time, when, as President, he
visited the Atlanta Exposition. At the request of myself and others he
consented to spend an hour in the Negro Building, for the purpose of
inspecting the Negro exhibit and of
giving228 the coloured people in attendance an opportunity to shake
hands with him. As soon as I met Mr. Cleveland I became impressed with
his simplicity, greatness, and rugged honesty. I have met him many
times since then, both at public functions and at his private
residence in Princeton, and the more I see of him the more I admire
him. When he visited the Negro Building in Atlanta he seemed to give
himself up wholly, for that hour, to the coloured people. He seemed to
be as careful to shake hands with some old coloured “auntie” clad
partially in rags, and to take as much pleasure in doing so, as if he
were greeting some millionaire. Many of the coloured people took
advantage of the occasion to get him to write his name in a book or on
a slip of paper. He was as careful and patient in doing this as if he
were putting his signature to some great state document.

Mr. Cleveland has not only shown his friendship for me in many
personal ways, but has always consented to do anything I have asked of
him for our school. This he has done, whether it was to make a
personal donation or to use his influence in securing the donations of
others. Judging from my personal acquaintance with Mr. Cleveland, I do
not believe that he is conscious of possessing any colour prejudice.
He is too great for that. In my
contact229 with people I find that, as a rule, it is only the little, narrow
people who live for themselves, who never read good books, who do not
travel, who never open up their souls in a way to permit them to come
into contact with other souls—with the great outside world. No man
whose vision is bounded by colour can come into contact with what is
highest and best in the world. In meeting men, in many places, I have
found that the happiest people are those who do the most for others;
the most miserable are those who do the least. I have also found that
few things, if any, are capable of making one so blind and narrow as
race prejudice. I often say to our students, in the course of my talks
to them on Sunday evenings in the chapel, that the longer I live and
the more experience I have of the world, the more I am convinced that,
after all, the one thing that is most worth living for—and dying
for, if need be—is the opportunity of making some one else more
happy and more useful.

The coloured people and the coloured newspapers at first seemed to be
greatly pleased with the character of my Atlanta address, as well as
with its reception. But after the first burst of enthusiasm began to
die away, and the coloured people began reading the speech in cold type,
some of them seemed to feel that they had been hypnotized. They seemed
to230 feel that I had been too liberal in my remarks toward the Southern
whites, and that I had not spoken out strongly enough for what they
termed the “rights” of the race. For a while there was a reaction, so
far as a certain element of my own race was concerned, but later these
reactionary ones seemed to have been won over to my way of believing
and acting.

While speaking of changes in public sentiment, I recall that about
ten years after the school at Tuskegee was established, I had an
experience that I shall never forget. Dr. Lyman Abbott, then the
pastor of Plymouth Church, and also editor of the Outlook (then the
Christian Union), asked me to write a letter for his paper giving my
opinion of the exact condition, mental and moral, of the coloured
ministers in the South, as based upon my observations. I wrote the
letter, giving the exact facts as I conceived them to be. The picture
painted was a rather black one—or, since I am black, shall I say
“white”? It could not be otherwise with a race but a few years out of
slavery, a race which had not had time or opportunity to produce a
competent ministry.

What I said soon reached every Negro minister in the country, I think,
and the letters of condemnation which I received from them were not few.
I231 think that for a year after the publication of this article every
association and every conference or religious body of any kind, of my
race, that met, did not fail before adjourning to pass a resolution
condemning me, or calling upon me to retract or modify what I had
said. Many of these organizations went so far in their resolutions as
to advise parents to cease sending their children to Tuskegee. One
association even appointed a “missionary” whose duty it was to warn
the people against sending their children to Tuskegee. This missionary
had a son in the school, and I noticed that, whatever the “missionary”
might have said or done with regard to others, he was careful not to
take his son away from the institution. Many of the coloured papers,
especially those that were the organs of religious bodies, joined in
the general chorus of condemnation or demands for retraction.

During the whole time of the excitement, and through all the
criticism, I did not utter a word of explanation or retraction. I knew
that I was right, and that time and the sober second thought of the
people would vindicate me. It was not long before the bishops and
other church leaders began to make a careful investigation of the
conditions of the ministry, and they found out that I was right. In
fact, the oldest and most influential bishop in one branch
of232 the Methodist Church said that my words were far too mild. Very
soon public sentiment began making itself felt, in demanding a
purifying of the ministry. While this is not yet complete by any
means, I think I may say, without egotism, and I have been told by
many of our most influential ministers, that my words had much to do
with starting a demand for the placing of a higher type of men in the
pulpit. I have had the satisfaction of having many who once condemned
me thank me heartily for my frank words.

The change of the attitude of the Negro ministry, so far as regards
myself, is so complete that at the present time I have no warmer
friends among any class than I have among the clergymen. The
improvement in the character and life of the Negro ministers is one of
the most gratifying evidences of the progress of the race. My
experience with them, as well as other events in my life, convince me
that the thing to do, when one feels sure that he has said or done the
right thing, and is condemned, is to stand still and keep quiet. If he
is right, time will show it.

In the midst of the discussion which was going on concerning my
Atlanta speech, I received the letter which I give below, from Dr.
Gilman, the President of Johns Hopkins University, who had been made
chairman233 of the judges of award in connection with the Atlanta
Exposition:—

Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore,

President’s Office, September 30, 1895.

Dear Mr. Washington: Would it be agreeable to you to be one of the
Judges of Award in the Department of Education at Atlanta? If so, I
shall be glad to place your name upon the list. A line by telegraph
will be welcomed.

Yours very truly,

D. C. Gilman.

I think I was even more surprised to receive this invitation than I
had been to receive the invitation to speak at the opening of the
Exposition. It was to be a part of my duty, as one of the jurors, to
pass not only upon the exhibits of the coloured schools, but also upon
those of the white schools. I accepted the position, and spent a month
in Atlanta in performance of the duties which it entailed. The board
of jurors was a large one, consisting in all of sixty members. It was
about equally divided between Southern white people and Northern white
people. Among them were college presidents, leading scientists and men
of letters, and specialists in many subjects. When the group of jurors
to which I was assigned met for organization, Mr. Thomas Nelson Page, who
was234 one of the number, moved that I be made secretary of that
division, and the motion was unanimously adopted. Nearly half of our
division were Southern people. In performing my duties in the
inspection of the exhibits of white schools I was in every case
treated with respect, and at the close of our labours I parted from my
associates with regret.

I am often asked to express myself more freely than I do upon the
political condition and the political future of my race. These
recollections of my experience in Atlanta give me the opportunity to
do so briefly. My own belief is, although I have never before said so
in so many words, that the time will come when the Negro in the South
will be accorded all the political rights which his ability,
character, and material possessions entitle him to. I think, though,
that the opportunity to freely exercise such political rights will not
come in any large degree through outside or artificial forcing, but
will be accorded to the Negro by the Southern white people themselves,
and that they will protect him in the exercise of those rights. Just
as soon as the South gets over the old feeling that it is being forced
by “foreigners,” or “aliens,” to do something which it does not want
to do, I believe that the change in the direction that I have
indicated235 is going to begin. In fact, there are indications that it
is already beginning in a slight degree.

Let me illustrate my meaning. Suppose that some months before the
opening of the Atlanta Exposition there had been a general demand from
the press and public platform outside the South that a Negro be given
a place on the opening programme, and that a Negro be placed upon the
board of jurors of award. Would any such recognition of the race have
taken place? I do not think so. The Atlanta officials went as far as
they did because they felt it to be a pleasure, as well as a duty, to
reward what they considered merit in the Negro race. Say what we will,
there is something in human nature which we cannot blot out, which
makes one man, in the end, recognize and reward merit in another,
regardless of colour or race.

I believe it is the duty of the Negro—as the greater part of the
race is already doing—to deport himself modestly in regard to
political claims, depending upon the slow but sure influences that
proceed from the possession of property, intelligence, and high
character for the full recognition of his political rights. I think that
the according of the full exercise of political rights is going to be
a236 matter of natural, slow growth, not an over-night, gourd-vine
affair. I do not believe that the Negro should cease voting, for a man
cannot learn the exercise of self-government by ceasing to vote, any
more than a boy can learn to swim by keeping out of the water, but I
do believe that in his voting he should more and more be influenced by
those of intelligence and character who are his next-door neighbours.

I know coloured men who, through the encouragement, help, and advice
of Southern white people, have accumulated thousands of dollars’ worth
of property, but who, at the same time, would never think of going to
those same persons for advice concerning the casting of their ballots.
This, it seems to me, is unwise and unreasonable, and should cease. In
saying this I do not mean that the Negro should truckle, or not vote
from principle, for the instant he ceases to vote from principle he
loses the confidence and respect of the Southern white man even.

I do not believe that any state should make a law that permits an
ignorant and poverty-stricken white man to vote, and prevents a black
man in the same condition from voting. Such a law is not only unjust,
but it will react, as all unjust laws do, in time; for the effect of
such a law is to encourage
the237 Negro to secure education and property, and at the same time it
encourages the white man to remain in ignorance and poverty. I believe
that in time, through the operation of intelligence and friendly race
relations, all cheating at the ballot-box in the South will cease. It
will become apparent that the white man who begins by cheating a Negro
out of his ballot soon learns to cheat a white man out of his, and
that the man who does this ends his career of dishonesty by the theft
of property or by some equally serious crime. In my opinion, the time
will come when the South will encourage all of its citizens to vote.
It will see that it pays better, from every standpoint, to have
healthy, vigorous life than to have that political stagnation which
always results when one-half of the population has no share and no
interest in the Government.

As a rule, I believe in universal, free suffrage, but I believe that
in the South we are confronted with peculiar conditions that justify
the protection of the ballot in many of the states, for a while at
least, either by an educational test, a property test, or by both
combined; but whatever tests are required, they should be made to
apply with equal and exact justice to both races.

CHAPTER XV

THE SECRET OF SUCCESS IN PUBLIC SPEAKING

A

S to how my address at Atlanta was received by the audience in the
Exposition building, I think I prefer to let Mr. James Creelman, the
noted war correspondent, tell. Mr. Creelman was present, and
telegraphed the following account to the New York World:—

Atlanta, September 18.

While President Cleveland was waiting at Gray Gables to-day, to send
the electric spark that started the machinery of the Atlanta
Exposition, a Negro Moses stood before a great audience of white
people and delivered an oration that marks a new epoch in the history
of the South; and a body of Negro troops marched in a procession with
the citizen soldiery of Georgia and Louisiana. The whole city is
thrilling to-night with a realization of the extraordinary
significance of these two unprecedented events. Nothing has happened
since Henry Grady’s immortal speech before the New England society in
New York that indicates so profoundly the spirit of the New South,
except, perhaps, the opening of the Exposition itself.

When239 Professor Booker T. Washington, Principal of an industrial
school for coloured people in Tuskegee, Ala. stood on the platform of
the Auditorium, with the sun shining over the heads of his auditors
into his eyes, and with his whole face lit up with the fire of
prophecy, Clark Howell, the successor of Henry Grady, said to me,
“That man’s speech is the beginning of a moral revolution in America.”

It is the first time that a Negro has made a speech in the South on
any important occasion before an audience composed of white men and
women. It electrified the audience, and the response was as if it had
come from the throat of a whirlwind.

Mrs. Thompson had hardly taken her seat when all eyes were turned on
a tall tawny Negro sitting in the front row of the platform. It was
Professor Booker T. Washington, President of the Tuskegee (Alabama)
Normal and Industrial Institute, who must rank from this time forth as
the foremost man of his race in America. Gilmore’s Band played the
“Star-Spangled Banner,” and the audience cheered. The tune changed to
“Dixie” and the audience roared with shrill “hi-yis.” Again the music
changed, this time to “Yankee Doodle,” and the clamour lessened.

All this time the eyes of the thousands present looked straight at
the Negro orator. A strange thing was to happen. A black man was to
speak for his people, with none to interrupt him. As Professor
Washington strode to the edge of the stage, the low, descending sun
shot fiery rays through the windows into his face. A great shout
greeted him. He turned his head to avoid the blinding light, and moved
about the platform for relief. Then he turned his
wonderful240 countenance to the sun without a blink of the eyelids, and
began to talk.

There was a remarkable figure; tall, bony, straight as a Sioux chief,
high forehead, straight nose, heavy jaws, and strong, determined
mouth, with big white teeth, piercing eyes, and a commanding manner.
The sinews stood out on his bronzed neck, and his muscular right arm
swung high in the air, with a lead-pencil grasped in the clinched
brown fist. His big feet were planted squarely, with the heels
together and the toes turned out. His voice rang out clear and true,
and he paused impressively as he made each point. Within ten minutes
the multitude was in an uproar of enthusiasm—handkerchiefs were
waved, canes were flourished, hats were tossed in the air. The fairest
women of Georgia stood up and cheered. It was as if the orator had
bewitched them.

And when he held his dusky hand high above his head, with the fingers
stretched wide apart, and said to the white people of the South on
behalf of his race, “In all things that are purely social we can be as
separate as the fingers, yet one as the hand in all things essential
to mutual progress,” the great wave of sound dashed itself against the
walls, and the whole audience was on its feet in a delirium of
applause, and I thought at that moment of the night when Henry Grady
stood among the curling wreaths of tobacco-smoke in Delmonico’s
banquet-hall and said, “I am a Cavalier among Roundheads.”

I have heard the great orators of many countries, but not even Gladstone
himself could have pleaded a cause with more consummate power than did
this angular Negro, standing in a nimbus of sunshine, surrounded by the men
who241 once fought to keep his race in bondage. The roar might swell
ever so high, but the expression of his earnest face never changed.

A ragged, ebony giant, squatted on the floor in one of the aisles,
watched the orator with burning eyes and tremulous face until the
supreme burst of applause came, and then the tears ran down his face.
Most of the Negroes in the audience were crying, perhaps without
knowing just why.

At the close of the speech Governor Bullock rushed across the stage
and seized the orator’s hand. Another shout greeted this
demonstration, and for a few minutes the two men stood facing each
other, hand in hand.

So far as I could spare the time from the immediate work at Tuskegee,
after my Atlanta address, I accepted some of the invitations to speak
in public which came to me, especially those that would take me into
territory where I thought it would pay to plead the cause of my race,
but I always did this with the understanding that I was to be free to
talk about my life-work and the needs of my people. I also had it
understood that I was not to speak in the capacity of a professional
lecturer, or for mere commercial gain.

In my efforts on the public platform I never have been able to
understand why people come to hear me speak. This question I never can
rid myself of. Time and time again, as I have stood in the
street242 in front of a building and have seen men and women passing in
large numbers into the audience-room where I was to speak, I have felt
ashamed that I should be the cause of people—as it seemed to
me—wasting a valuable hour of time. Some years ago I was to deliver an
address before a literary society in Madison, Wis. An hour before the
time set for me to speak, a fierce snow-storm began, and continued for
several hours. I made up my mind that there would be no audience, and
that I should not have to speak, but, as a matter of duty, I went to
the church, and found it packed with people. The surprise gave me a
shock that I did not recover from during the whole evening.

People often ask me if I feel nervous before speaking, or else they
suggest that, since I speak so often, they suppose that I get used to
it. In answer to this question I have to say that I always suffer
intensely from nervousness before speaking. More than once, just
before I was to make an important address, this nervous strain has
been so great that I have resolved never again to speak in public. I
not only feel nervous before speaking, but after I have finished I
usually feel a sense of regret, because it seems to me as if I had
left out of my address the main thing and the best thing that I had
meant to say.

There is a great compensation, though, for this
preliminary243 nervous suffering, that comes to me after I have been
speaking for about ten minutes, and have come to feel that I have
really mastered my audience, and that we have gotten into full and
complete sympathy with each other. It seems to me that there is rarely
such a combination of mental and physical delight in any effort as
that which comes to a public speaker when he feels that he has a great
audience completely within his control. There is a thread of sympathy
and oneness that connects a public speaker with his audience, that is
just as strong as though it was something tangible and visible. If in
an audience of a thousand people there is one person who is not in
sympathy with my views, or is inclined to be doubtful, cold, or
critical, I can pick him out. When I have found him I usually go
straight at him, and it is a great satisfaction to watch the process
of his thawing out. I find that the most effective medicine for such
individuals is administered at first in the form of a story, although
I never tell an anecdote simply for the sake of telling one. That kind
of thing, I think, is empty and hollow, and an audience soon finds it
out.

I believe that one always does himself and his audience an injustice
when he speaks merely for the sake of speaking. I do not believe that
one should speak unless, deep down in his heart, he feels
convinced244 that he has a message to deliver. When one feels, from the
bottom of his feet to the top of his head, that he has something to
say that is going to help some individual or some cause, then let him
say it; and in delivering his message I do not believe that many of
the artificial rules of elocution can, under such circumstances, help
him very much. Although there are certain things, such as pauses,
breathing, and pitch of voice, that are very important, none of these
can take the place of soul in an address. When I have an address to
deliver, I like to forget all about the rules for the proper use of
the English language, and all about rhetoric and that sort of thing,
and I like to make the audience forget all about these things, too.

Nothing tends to throw me off my balance so quickly, when I am
speaking, as to have some one leave the room. To prevent this, I make
up my mind, as a rule, that I will try to make my address so
interesting, will try to state so many interesting facts one after
another, that no one can leave. The average audience, I have come to
believe, wants facts rather than generalities or sermonizing. Most
people, I think, are able to draw proper conclusions if they are given
the facts in an interesting form on which to base them.

As to the kind of audience that I like best to
talk245 to, I would put at the top of the list an organization of
strong, wide-awake, business men, such, for example, as is found in
Boston, New York, Chicago, and Buffalo. I have found no other audience
so quick to see a point, and so responsive. Within the last few years
I have had the privilege of speaking before most of the leading
organizations of this kind in the large cities of the United States.
The best time to get hold of an organization of business men is after
a good dinner, although I think that one of the worst instruments of
torture that was ever invented is the custom which makes it necessary
for a speaker to sit through a fourteen-course dinner, every minute of
the time feeling sure that his speech is going to prove a dismal
failure and disappointment.

I rarely take part in one of these long dinners that I do not wish
that I could put myself back in the little cabin where I was a slave
boy, and again go through the experience there—one that I shall
never forget—of getting molasses to eat once a week from the “big
house.” Our usual diet on the plantation was corn bread and pork, but
on Sunday morning my mother was permitted to bring down a little
molasses from the “big house” for her three children, and when it was
received how I did wish that every day was Sunday! I would get my
tin246 plate and hold it up for the sweet morsel, but I would always
shut my eyes while the molasses was being poured out into the plate,
with the hope that when I opened them I would be surprised to see how
much I had got. When I opened my eyes I would tip the plate in one
direction and another, so as to make the molasses spread all over it,
in the full belief that there would be more of it and that it would
last longer if spread out in this way. So strong are my childish
impressions of those Sunday morning feasts that it would be pretty
hard for any one to convince me that there is not more molasses on a
plate when it is spread all over the plate than when it occupies a
little corner—if there is a corner in a plate. At any rate, I have
never believed in “cornering” syrup. My share of the syrup was usually
about two tablespoonfuls, and those two spoonfuls of molasses were
much more enjoyable to me than is a fourteen-course dinner after which
I am to speak.

Next to a company of business men, I prefer to speak to an audience
of Southern people, of either race, together or taken separately.
Their enthusiasm and responsiveness are a constant delight. The
“amens” and “dat’s de truf” that come spontaneously from the coloured
individuals are calculated to spur any speaker on to his best efforts. I think
that247 next in order of preference I would place a college audience. It
has been my privilege to deliver addresses at many of our leading
colleges, including Harvard, Yale, Williams, Amherst, Fisk University,
the University of Pennsylvania, Wellesley, the University of Michigan,
Trinity College in North Carolina, and many others.

It has been a matter of deep interest to me to note the number of
people who have come to shake hands with me after an address, who say
that this is the first time they have ever called a Negro “Mister.”

When speaking directly in the interests of the Tuskegee Institute, I
usually arrange, some time in advance, a series of meetings in
important centres. This takes me before churches, Sunday-schools,
Christian Endeavour Societies, and men’s and women’s clubs. When doing
this I sometimes speak before as many as four organizations in a
single day.

Three years ago, at the suggestion of Mr. Morris K. Jesup, of New
York, and Dr. J. L. M. Curry, the general agent of the fund, the
trustees of the John F. Slater Fund voted a sum of money to be used in
paying the expenses of Mrs. Washington and myself while holding a
series of meetings among the coloured people in the large centres of Negro
population, 248 especially in the large cities of the ex-slaveholding
states. Each year during the last three years we have devoted some
weeks to this work. The plan that we have followed has been for me to
speak in the morning to the ministers, teachers, and professional men.
In the afternoon Mrs. Washington would speak to the women alone, and
in the evening I spoke to a large mass-meeting. In almost every case
the meetings have been attended not only by the coloured people in
large numbers, but by the white people. In Chattanooga, Tenn., for
example, there was present at the mass-meeting an audience of not less
than three thousand persons, and I was informed that eight hundred of
these were white. I have done no work that I really enjoyed more than
this, or that I think has accomplished more good.

These meetings have given Mrs. Washington and myself an opportunity
to get first-hand, accurate information as to the real condition of
the race, by seeing the people in their homes, their churches, their
Sunday-schools, and their places of work, as well as in the prisons
and dens of crime. These meetings also gave us an opportunity to see
the relations that exist between the races. I never feel so hopeful
about the race as I do after being engaged in a series of these
meetings. I know that
on249 such occasions there is much that comes to the surface that is
superficial and deceptive, but I have had experience enough not to be
deceived by mere signs and fleeting enthusiasms. I have taken pains to
go to the bottom of things and get facts, in a cold, business-like
manner.

I have seen the statement made lately, by one who claims to know what
he is talking about, that, taking the whole Negro race into account,
ninety per cent of the Negro women are not virtuous. There never was a
baser falsehood uttered concerning a race, or a statement made that
was less capable of being proved by actual facts.

No one can come into contact with the race for twenty years, as I
have done in the heart of the South, without being convinced that the
race is constantly making slow but sure progress materially,
educationally, and morally. One might take up the life of the worst
element in New York City, for example, and prove almost anything he
wanted to prove concerning the white man, but all will agree that this
is not a fair test.

Early in the year 1897 I received a letter inviting me to deliver an
address at the dedication of the Robert Gould Shaw monument in Boston.
I accepted the invitation. It is not necessary for me, I am sure, to
explain who Robert Gould Shaw was,
and250 what he did. The monument to his memory stands near the head of
Boston Common, facing the State House. It is counted to be the most
perfect piece of art of the kind to be found in the country.

The exercises connected with the dedication were held in Music Hall,
in Boston, and the great hall was packed from top to bottom with one
of the most distinguished audiences that ever assembled in the city.
Among those present there were more persons representing the famous
old anti-slavery element than it is likely will ever be brought
together in the country again. The late Hon. Roger Wolcott, then
Governor of Massachusetts, was the presiding officer, and on the
platform with him were many other officials and hundreds of
distinguished men. A report of the meeting which appeared in the
Boston Transcript will describe it better than any words of mine could
do:—

The core and kernel of yesterday’s great noon meeting in honour of
the Brotherhood of Man, in Music Hall, was the superb address of the
Negro President of Tuskegee. “Booker T. Washington received his
Harvard A. M. last June, the first of his race,” said Governor
Wolcott, “to receive an honorary degree from the oldest university in
the land, and this for the wise leadership of his people.” When Mr.
Washington rose in the flag-filled, enthusiasm-warmed, patriotic, and
glowing atmosphere of Music Hall,
people251 felt keenly that here was the civic justification of the old
abolition spirit of Massachusetts; in his person the proof of her
ancient and indomitable faith; in his strong thought and rich oratory,
the crown and glory of the old war days of suffering and strife. The
scene was full of historic beauty and deep significance. “Cold” Boston
was alive with the fire that is always hot in her heart for
righteousness and truth. Rows and rows of people who are seldom seen
at any public function, whole families of those who are certain to be
out of town on a holiday, crowded the place to overflowing. The city
was at her birthright fête in the persons of hundreds of her best
citizens, men and women whose names and lives stand for the virtues
that make for honourable civic pride.

Battle-music had filled the air. Ovation after ovation, applause warm
and prolonged, had greeted the officers and friends of Colonel Shaw,
the sculptor, St. Gaudens, the memorial Committee, the Governor and
his staff, and the Negro soldiers of the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts as
they came upon the platform or entered the hall. Colonel Henry Lee, of
Governor Andrew’s old staff, had made a noble, simple presentation
speech for the committee, paying tribute to Mr. John M. Forbes, in
whose stead he served. Governor Wolcott had made his short, memorable
speech, saying, “Fort Wagner marked an epoch in the history of a race,
and called it into manhood.” Mayor Quincy had received the monument
for the city of Boston. The story of Colonel Shaw and his black
regiment had been told in gallant words, and then, after the singing of

Mine eyes have seen the glory
Of the coming of the Lord,

Booker252 Washington arose. It was, of course, just the moment for him.
The multitude, shaken out of its usual symphony-concert calm, quivered
with an excitement that was not suppressed. A dozen times it had
sprung to its feet to cheer and wave and hurrah, as one person. When
this man of culture and voice and power, as well as a dark skin,
began, and uttered the names of Stearns and of Andrew, feeling began
to mount. You could see tears glisten in the eyes of soldiers and
civilians. When the orator turned to the coloured soldiers on the
platform, to the colour-bearer of Fort Wagner, who smilingly bore
still the flag he had never lowered even when wounded, and said, “To
you, to the scarred and scattered remnants of the Fifty-fourth, who,
with empty sleeve and wanting leg, have honoured this occasion with
your presence, to you, your commander is not dead. Though Boston
erected no monument and history recorded no story, in you and in the
loyal race which you represent, Robert Gould Shaw would have a
monument which time could not wear away,” then came the climax of the
emotion of the day and the hour. It was Roger Wolcott, as well as the
Governor of Massachusetts, the individual representative of the
people’s sympathy as well as the chief magistrate, who had sprung
first to his feet and cried, “Three cheers to Booker T. Washington!”

Among those on the platform was Sergeant William H. Carney, of New
Bedford, Mass., the brave coloured officer who was the colour-bearer
at Fort Wagner and held the American flag. In spite of the fact that a
large part of his regiment was killed,
he253 escaped, and exclaimed, after the battle was over, “The old flag
never touched the ground.”

This flag Sergeant Carney held in his hands as he sat on the
platform, and when I turned to address the survivors of the coloured
regiment who were present, and referred to Sergeant Carney, he rose,
as if by instinct, and raised the flag. It has been my privilege to
witness a good many satisfactory and rather sensational demonstrations
in connection with some of my public addresses, but in dramatic effect
I have never seen or experienced anything which equalled this. For a
number of minutes the audience seemed to entirely lose control of
itself.

In the general rejoicing throughout the country which followed the
close of the Spanish-American war, peace celebrations were arranged in
several of the large cities. I was asked by President William R.
Harper, of the University of Chicago, who was chairman of the
committee of invitations for the celebration to be held in the city of
Chicago, to deliver one of the addresses at the celebration there. I
accepted the invitation, and delivered two addresses there during the
Jubilee week. The first of these, and the principal one, was given in
the Auditorium, on the evening of Sunday, October 16. This was the
largest audience that I have ever addressed, in any part of the
country; and besides speaking in
the254 main Auditorium, I also addressed, that same evening, two
overflow audiences in other parts of the city.

It was said that there were sixteen thousand persons in the
Auditorium, and it seemed to me as if there were as many more on the
outside trying to get in. It was impossible for any one to get near
the entrance without the aid of a policeman. President William
McKinley attended this meeting, as did also the members of his
Cabinet, many foreign ministers, and a large number of army and navy
officers, many of whom had distinguished themselves in the war which
had just closed. The speakers, besides myself, on Sunday evening, were
Rabbi Emil G. Hirsch, Father Thomas P. Hodnett, and Dr. John H. Barrows.

The Chicago Times-Herald, in describing the meeting, said of my
address:—

He pictured the Negro choosing slavery rather than extinction;
recalled Crispus Attucks shedding his blood at the beginning of the
American Revolution, that white Americans might be free, while black
Americans remained in slavery; rehearsed the conduct of the Negroes
with Jackson at New Orleans; drew a vivid and pathetic picture of the
Southern slaves protecting and supporting the families of their
masters while the latter were fighting to perpetuate black slavery;
recounted the bravery of
coloured255 troops at Port Hudson and Forts Wagner and Pillow, and
praised the heroism of the black regiments that stormed El Caney and
Santiago to give freedom to the enslaved people of Cuba, forgetting,
for the time being, the unjust discrimination that law and custom make
against them in their own country.

In all of these things, the speaker declared, his race had chosen the
better part. And then he made his eloquent appeal to the consciences
of the white Americans: “When you have gotten the full story of the
heroic conduct of the Negro in the Spanish-American war, have heard
it from the lips of Northern soldier and Southern soldier, from
ex-abolitionist and ex-masters, then decide within yourselves whether a
race that is thus willing to die for its country should not be given
the highest opportunity to live for its country.”

The part of the speech which seemed to arouse the wildest and most
sensational enthusiasm was that in which I thanked the President for
his recognition of the Negro in his appointments during the Spanish-American
war. The President was sitting in a box at the right of the
stage. When I addressed him I turned toward the box, and as I finished
the sentence thanking him for his generosity, the whole audience rose
and cheered again and again, waving handkerchiefs and hats and canes,
until the President arose in the box and bowed his acknowledgments. At
that the enthusiasm broke out again, and the demonstration was almost
indescribable.

One256 portion of my address at Chicago seemed to have been
misunderstood by the Southern press, and some of the Southern papers
took occasion to criticise me rather strongly. These criticisms
continued for several weeks, until I finally received a letter from
the editor of the Age-Herald, published in Birmingham, Ala., asking me
if I would say just what I meant by this part of my address. I replied
to him in a letter which seemed to satisfy my critics. In this letter
I said that I had made it a rule never to say before a Northern
audience anything that I would not say before an audience in the
South. I said that I did not think it was necessary for me to go into
extended explanations; if my seventeen years of work in the heart of
the South had not been explanation enough, I did not see how words
could explain. I said that I made the same plea that I had made in my
address at Atlanta, for the blotting out of race prejudice in
“commercial and civil relations.” I said that what is termed social
recognition was a question which I never discussed, and then I quoted
from my Atlanta address what I had said there in regard to that subject.

In meeting crowds of people at public gatherings, there is one type of
individual that I dread. I mean the crank. I have become so accustomed to
these257 people now that I can pick them out at a distance when I see
them elbowing their way up to me. The average crank has a long beard,
poorly cared for, a lean, narrow face, and wears a black coat. The
front of his vest and coat are slick with grease, and his trousers bag
at the knees.

In Chicago, after I had spoken at a meeting, I met one of these
fellows. They usually have some process for curing all of the ills of
the world at once. This Chicago specimen had a patent process by which
he said Indian corn could be kept through a period of three or four
years, and he felt sure that if the Negro race in the South would, as
a whole, adopt his process, it would settle the whole race question.
It mattered nothing that I tried to convince him that our present
problem was to teach the Negroes how to produce enough corn to last
them through one year. Another Chicago crank had a scheme by which he
wanted me to join him in an effort to close up all the National banks
in the country. If that was done, he felt sure it would put the Negro
on his feet.

The number of people who stand ready to consume one’s time, to no
purpose, is almost countless. At one time I spoke before a large
audience in Boston in the evening. The next morning I was awakened by
having a card brought to my room,
and258 with it a message that some one was anxious to see me. Thinking
that it must be something very important, I dressed hastily and went
down. When I reached the hotel office I found a blank and innocent-looking
individual waiting for me, who coolly remarked: “I heard you
talk at a meeting last night. I rather liked your talk, and so I came
in this morning to hear you talk some more.”

I am often asked how it is possible for me to superintend the work at
Tuskegee and at the same time be so much away from the school. In
partial answer to this I would say that I think I have learned, in
some degree at least, to disregard the old maxim which says, “Do not
get others to do that which you can do yourself.” My motto, on the
other hand, is, “Do not do that which others can do as well.”

One of the most encouraging signs in connection with the Tuskegee
school is found in the fact that the organization is so thorough that
the daily work of the school is not dependent upon the presence of any
one individual. The whole executive force, including instructors and
clerks, now numbers eighty-six. This force is so organized and
subdivided that the machinery of the school goes on day by day like
clockwork. Most of our
teachers259 have been connected with the institution for a number of
years, and are as much interested in it as I am. In my absence, Mr.
Warren Logan, the treasurer, who has been at the school seventeen
years, is the executive. He is efficiently supported by Mrs.
Washington, and by my faithful secretary, Mr. Emmett J. Scott, who
handles the bulk of my correspondence and keeps me in daily touch with
the life of the school, and who also keeps me informed of whatever
takes place in the South that concerns the race. I owe more to his
tact, wisdom, and hard work than I can describe.

The main executive work of the school, whether I am at Tuskegee or
not, centres in what we call the executive council. This council meets
twice a week, and is composed of the nine persons who are at the head
of the nine departments of the school. For example: Mrs. B. K. Bruce,
the Lady Principal, the widow of the late ex-senator Bruce, is a
member of the council, and represents in it all that pertains to the
life of the girls at the school. In addition to the executive council
there is a financial committee of six, that meets every week and
decides upon the expenditures for the week. Once a month, and
sometimes oftener, there is a general meeting of all the instructors.
Aside from these there are innumerable smaller meetings, such as
that260 of the instructors in the Phelps Hall Bible Training School, or
of the instructors in the agricultural department.

In order that I may keep in constant touch with the life of the
institution, I have a system of reports so arranged that a record of
the school’s work reaches me every day in the year, no matter in what
part of the country I am. I know by these reports even what students
are excused from school, and why they are excused—whether for
reasons of ill health or otherwise. Through the medium of these
reports I know each day what the income of the school in money is; I
know how many gallons of milk and how many pounds of butter come from
the dairy; what the bill of fare for the teachers and students is;
whether a certain kind of meat was boiled or baked, and whether
certain vegetables served in the dining room were bought from a store
or procured from our own farm. Human nature I find to be very much the
same the world over, and it is sometimes not hard to yield to the
temptation to go to a barrel of rice that has come from the store—with
the grain all prepared to go into the pot—rather than to take
the time and trouble to go to the field and dig and wash one’s own
sweet potatoes, which might be prepared in a manner to take the place
of the rice.

I261 am often asked how, in the midst of so much work, a large part of
which is before the public, I can find time for any rest or
recreation, and what kind of recreation or sports I am fond of. This
is rather a difficult question to answer. I have a strong feeling that
every individual owes it to himself, and to the cause which he is
serving, to keep a vigorous, healthy body, with the nerves steady and
strong, prepared for great efforts and prepared for disappointments
and trying positions. As far as I can, I make it a rule to plan for
each day’s work—not merely to go through with the same routine of
daily duties, but to get rid of the routine work as early in the day
as possible, and then to enter upon some new or advance work. I make
it a rule to clear my desk every day, before leaving my office, of all
correspondence and memoranda, so that on the morrow I can begin a new
day of work. I make it a rule never to let my work drive me, but to so
master it, and keep it in such complete control, and to keep so far
ahead of it, that I will be the master instead of the servant. There
is a physical and mental and spiritual enjoyment that comes from a
consciousness of being the absolute master of one’s work, in all its
details, that is very satisfactory and inspiring. My experience teaches
me that, if one learns to follow this plan, he gets a freshness of
body262 and vigour of mind out of work that goes a long way toward
keeping him strong and healthy. I believe that when one can grow to
the point where he loves his work, this gives him a kind of strength
that is most valuable.

When I begin my work in the morning, I expect to have a successful
and pleasant day of it, but at the same time I prepare myself for
unpleasant and unexpected hard places. I prepare myself to hear that
one of our school buildings is on fire, or has burned, or that some
disagreeable accident has occurred, or that some one has abused me in
a public address or printed article, for something that I have done or
omitted to do, or for something that he had heard that I had
said—probably something that I had never thought of saying.

In nineteen years of continuous work I have taken but one vacation.
That was two years ago, when some of my friends put the money into my
hands and forced Mrs. Washington and myself to spend three months in
Europe. I have said that I believe it is the duty of every one to keep
his body in good condition. I try to look after the little ills, with
the idea that if I take care of the little ills the big ones will not
come. When I find myself unable to sleep well, I know that something
is wrong. If I find any part of my system the least weak, and
not263 performing its duty, I consult a good physician. The ability to
sleep well, at any time and in any place, I find of great advantage. I
have so trained myself that I can lie down for a nap of fifteen or
twenty minutes, and get up refreshed in body and mind.

I have said that I make it a rule to finish up each day’s work before
leaving it. There is, perhaps, one exception to this. When I have an
unusually difficult question to decide—one that appeals strongly to
the emotions—I find it a safe rule to sleep over it for a night, or
to wait until I have had an opportunity to talk it over with my wife
and friends.

As to my reading; the most time I get for solid reading is when I am
on the cars. Newspapers are to me a constant source of delight and
recreation. The only trouble is that I read too many of them. Fiction
I care little for. Frequently I have to almost force myself to read a
novel that is on every one’s lips. The kind of reading that I have the
greatest fondness for is biography. I like to be sure that I am
reading about a real man or a real thing. I think I do not go too far
when I say that I have read nearly every book and magazine article
that has been written about Abraham Lincoln. In literature he is my
patron saint.

Out of the twelve months in a year I suppose
that, 264 on an average, I spend six months away from Tuskegee. While my
being absent from the school so much unquestionably has its
disadvantages, yet there are at the same time some compensations. The
change of work brings a certain kind of rest. I enjoy a ride of a long
distance on the cars, when I am permitted to ride where I can be
comfortable. I get rest on the cars, except when the inevitable
individual who seems to be on every train approaches me with the now
familiar phrase: “Isn’t this Booker Washington? I want to introduce
myself to you.” Absence from the school enables me to lose sight of
the unimportant details of the work, and study it in a broader and
more comprehensive manner than I could do on the grounds. This absence
also brings me into contact with the best work being done in
educational lines, and into contact with the best educators in the land.

But, after all this is said, the time when I get the most solid rest
and recreation is when I can be at Tuskegee, and, after our evening
meal is over, can sit down, as is our custom, with my wife and Portia
and Baker and Davidson, my three children, and read a story, or each
take turns in telling a story. To me there is nothing on earth equal
to that, although what is nearly equal to it is to go with them for an
hour or more, as we like to do on Sunday
afternoons, 265 into the woods, where we can live for a while near the
heart of nature, where no one can disturb or vex us, surrounded by
pure air, the trees, the shrubbery, the flowers, and the sweet
fragrance that springs from a hundred plants, enjoying the chirp of
the crickets and the songs of the birds. This is solid rest.

My garden, also, what little time I can be at Tuskegee, is another
source of rest and enjoyment. Somehow I like, as often as possible, to
touch nature, not something that is artificial or an imitation, but
the real thing. When I can leave my office in time so that I can spend
thirty or forty minutes in spading the ground, in planting seeds, in
digging about the plants, I feel that I am coming into contact with
something that is giving me strength for the many duties and hard
places that await me out in the big world. I pity the man or woman who
has never learned to enjoy nature and to get strength and inspiration
out of it.

Aside from the large number of fowls and animals kept by the school,
I keep individually a number of pigs and fowls of the best grades, and
in raising these I take a great deal of pleasure. I think the pig is
my favourite animal. Few things are more satisfactory to me than a
high-grade Berkshire or Poland China pig.

Games266 I care little for. I have never seen a game of football. In
cards I do not know one card from another. A game of old-fashioned
marbles with my two boys, once in a while, is all I care for in this
direction. I suppose I would care for games now if I had had any time
in my youth to give to them, but that was not possible.

CHAPTER XVI

Europe

I

N 1893 I was married to Miss Margaret James Murray, a native of
Mississippi, and a graduate of Fisk University, in Nashville, Tenn., who
had come to Tuskegee as a teacher several years before, and at the
time we were married was filling the position of Lady Principal. Not
only is Mrs. Washington completely one with me in the work directly
connected with the school, relieving me of many burdens and
perplexities, but aside from her work on the school grounds, she
carries on a mothers’ meeting in the town of Tuskegee, and a
plantation work among the women, children, and men who live in a
settlement connected with a large plantation about eight miles from
Tuskegee. Both the mothers’ meeting and the plantation work are
carried on, not only with a view to helping those who are directly
reached, but also for the purpose of furnishing object-lessons in
these two kinds of work that may be followed by our
students268 when they go out into the world for their own life-work.

Aside from these two enterprises, Mrs. Washington is also largely
responsible for a woman’s club at the school which brings together,
twice a month, the women who live on the school grounds and those who
live near, for the discussion of some important topic. She is also the
President of what is known as the Federation of Southern Coloured
Women’s Clubs, and is Chairman of the Executive Committee of the
National Federation of Coloured Women’s Clubs.

Portia, the oldest of my three children, has learned dressmaking. She
has unusual ability in instrumental music. Aside from her studies at
Tuskegee, she has already begun to teach there.

Baker Taliaferro is my next oldest child. Young as he is, he has
already nearly mastered the brickmason’s trade. He began working at
this trade when he was quite small, dividing his time between this and
class work; and he has developed great skill in the trade and a
fondness for it. He says that he is going to be an architect and
brickmason. One of the most satisfactory letters that I have ever
received from any one came to me from Baker last summer. When I left
home for the summer, I told him that he must work at his trade half of each day,
and269 that the other half of the day he could spend as he pleased. When
I had been away from home two weeks, I received the following letter
from him:

Tuskegee, Alabama.

My dear Papa: Before you left home you told me to work at my trade
half of each day. I like my work so much that I want to work at my
trade all day. Besides, I want to earn all the money I can, so that
when I go to another school I shall have money to pay my expenses.

Your son,

Baker.

My youngest child, Ernest Davidson Washington, says that he is going
to be a physician. In addition to going to school, where he studies
books and has manual training, he regularly spends a portion of his
time in the office of our resident physician, and has already learned
to do many of the duties which pertain to a doctor’s office.

The thing in my life which brings me the keenest regret is that my
work in connection with public affairs keeps me for so much of the
time away from my family, where, of all places in the world, I delight
to be. I always envy the individual whose life-work is so laid that he
can spend his evenings at home. I have sometimes thought that people
who have this rare privilege do not appreciate it as
they270 should. It is such a rest and relief to get away from crowds of
people, and handshaking, and travelling, and get home, even if it be
for but a very brief while.

Another thing at Tuskegee out of which I get a great deal of pleasure
and satisfaction is in the meeting with our students, and teachers,
and their families, in the chapel for devotional exercises every
evening at half-past eight, the last thing before retiring for the
night. It is an inspiring sight when one stands on the platform there
and sees before him eleven or twelve hundred earnest young men and
women; and one cannot but feel that it is a privilege to help to guide
them to a higher and more useful life.

In the spring of 1899 there came to me what I might describe as
almost the greatest surprise of my life. Some good ladies in Boston
arranged a public meeting in the interests of Tuskegee, to be held in
the Hollis Street Theatre. This meeting was attended by large numbers
of the best people of Boston, of both races. Bishop Lawrence presided.
In addition to an address made by myself, Mr. Paul Lawrence Dunbar
read from his poems, and Dr. W. E. B. Du Bois read an original sketch.

Some of those who attended this meeting noticed that I seemed
unusually tired, and some little time
after271 the close of the meeting, one of the ladies who had been
interested in it asked me in a casual way if I had ever been to
Europe. I replied that I never had. She asked me if I had ever thought
of going, and I told her no; that it was something entirely beyond me.
This conversation soon passed out of my mind, but a few days afterward
I was informed that some friends in Boston, including Mr. Francis J.
Garrison, had raised a sum of money sufficient to pay all the expenses
of Mrs. Washington and myself during a three or four months’ trip to
Europe. It was added with emphasis that we must go. A year previous to
this Mr. Garrison had attempted to get me to promise to go to Europe
for a summer’s rest, with the understanding that he would be
responsible for raising the money among his friends for the expenses
of the trip. At that time such a journey seemed so entirely foreign to
anything that I should ever be able to undertake that I confess I did
not give the matter very serious attention; but later Mr. Garrison
joined his efforts to those of the ladies whom I have mentioned, and
when their plans were made known to me Mr. Garrison not only had the
route mapped out, but had, I believe, selected the steamer upon which
we were to sail.

The whole thing was so sudden and so
unexpected272 that I was completely taken off my feet. I had been at
work steadily for eighteen years in connection with Tuskegee, and I
had never thought of anything else but ending my life in that way.
Each day the school seemed to depend upon me more largely for its
daily expenses, and I told these Boston friends that, while I thanked
them sincerely for their thoughtfulness and generosity, I could not go
to Europe, for the reason that the school could not live financially
while I was absent. They then informed me that Mr. Henry L. Higginson,
and some other good friends who I know do not want their names made
public, were then raising a sum of money which would be sufficient to
keep the school in operation while I was away. At this point I was
compelled to surrender. Every avenue of escape had been closed.

Deep down in my heart the whole thing seemed more like a dream than
like reality, and for a long time it was difficult for me to make
myself believe that I was actually going to Europe. I had been born
and largely reared in the lowest depths of slavery, ignorance, and
poverty. In my childhood I had suffered for want of a place to sleep,
for lack of food, clothing, and shelter. I had not had the privilege
of sitting down to a dining-table until I was quite well grown.
Luxuries had always seemed to
me273 to be something meant for white people, not for my race. I had
always regarded Europe, and London, and Paris, much as I regard
heaven. And now could it be that I was actually going to Europe? Such
thoughts as these were constantly with me.

Two other thoughts troubled me a good deal. I feared that people who
heard that Mrs. Washington and I were going to Europe might not know
all the circumstances, and might get the idea that we had become, as
some might say, “stuck up,” and were trying to “show off.” I recalled
that from my youth I had heard it said that too often, when people of
my race reached any degree of success, they were inclined to unduly
exalt themselves; to try and ape the wealthy, and in so doing to lose
their heads. The fear that people might think this of us haunted me a
good deal. Then, too, I could not see how my conscience would permit
me to spare the time from my work and be happy. It seemed mean and
selfish in me to be taking a vacation while others were at work, and
while there was so much that needed to be done. From the time I could
remember, I had always been at work, and I did not see how I could
spend three or four months in doing nothing. The fact was that I did
not know how to take a vacation.

Mrs. Washington had much the same difficulty
in274 getting away, but she was anxious to go because she thought that I
needed the rest. There were many important National questions bearing
upon the life of the race which were being agitated at that time, and
this made it all the harder for us to decide to go. We finally gave
our Boston friends our promise that we would go, and then they
insisted that the date of our departure be set as soon as possible. So
we decided upon May 10. My good friend Mr. Garrison kindly took charge
of all the details necessary for the success of the trip, and he, as
well as other friends, gave us a great number of letters of
introduction to people in France and England, and made other
arrangements for our comfort and convenience abroad. Good-bys were
said at Tuskegee, and we were in New York May 9, ready to sail the
next day. Our daughter Portia, who was then studying in South
Framingham, Mass., came to New York to see us off. Mr. Scott, my
secretary, came with me to New York, in order that I might clear up
the last bit of business before I left. Other friends also came to New
York to see us off. Just before we went on board the steamer another
pleasant surprise came to us in the form of a letter from two generous
ladies, stating that they had decided to give us the money with which to erect a new
building275 to be used in properly housing all our industries for girls at
Tuskegee.

We were to sail on the Friesland, of the Red Star Line, and a
beautiful vessel she was. We went on board just before noon, the hour
of sailing. I had never before been on board a large ocean steamer,
and the feeling which took possession of me when I found myself there
is rather hard to describe. It was a feeling, I think, of awe mingled
with delight. We were agreeably surprised to find that the captain, as
well as several of the other officers, not only knew who we were, but
was expecting us and gave us a pleasant greeting. There were several
passengers whom we knew, including Senator Sewell, of New Jersey, and
Edward Marshall, the newspaper correspondent. I had just a little fear
that we would not be treated civilly by some of the passengers. This
fear was based upon what I had heard other people of my race, who had
crossed the ocean, say about unpleasant experiences in crossing the
ocean in American vessels. But in our case, from the captain down to
the most humble servant, we were treated with the greatest kindness.
Nor was this kindness confined to those who were connected with the
steamer; it was shown by all the passengers also. There were not a few Southern men and women
on276 board, and they were as cordial as those from other parts of the
country.

As soon as the last good-bys were said, and the steamer had cut loose
from the wharf, the load of care, anxiety, and responsibility which I
had carried for eighteen years began to lift itself from my shoulders
at the rate, it seemed to me, of a pound a minute. It was the first
time in all those years that I had felt, even in a measure, free from
care; and my feeling of relief it is hard to describe on paper. Added
to this was the delightful anticipation of being in Europe soon. It
all seemed more like a dream than like a reality.

Mr. Garrison had thoughtfully arranged to have us have one of the
most comfortable rooms on the ship. The second or third day out I
began to sleep, and I think that I slept at the rate of fifteen hours
a day during the remainder of the ten days’ passage. Then it was that
I began to understand how tired I really was. These long sleeps I kept
up for a month after we landed on the other side. It was such an
unusual feeling to wake up in the morning and realize that I had no
engagements; did not have to take a train at a certain hour; did not
have an appointment to meet some one, or to make an address, at a
certain hour. How different all this was from some of the experiences
that277 I have been through when travelling, when I have sometimes slept
in three different beds in a single night!

When Sunday came, the captain invited me to conduct the religious
services, but, not being a minister, I declined. The passengers,
however, began making requests that I deliver an address to them in
the dining-saloon some time during the voyage, and this I consented to
do. Senator Sewell presided at this meeting. After ten days of
delightful weather, during which I was not seasick for a day, we
landed at the interesting old city of Antwerp, in Belgium.

The next day after we landed happened to be one of those numberless
holidays which the people of those countries are in the habit of
observing. It was a bright, beautiful day. Our room in the hotel faced
the main public square, and the sights there—the people coming in
from the country with all kinds of beautiful flowers to sell, the
women coming in with their dogs drawing large, brightly polished cans
filled with milk, the people streaming into the cathedral—filled me
with a sense of newness that I had never before experienced.

After spending some time in Antwerp, we were invited to go with a
party of a half-dozen persons on a trip through Holland. This party included
Edward278 Marshall and some American artists who had come over on the
same steamer with us. We accepted the invitation, and enjoyed the trip
greatly. I think it was all the more interesting and instructive
because we went for most of the way on one of the slow, old-fashioned
canal-boats. This gave us an opportunity of seeing and studying the
real life of the people in the country districts. We went in this way
as far as Rotterdam, and later went to The Hague, where the Peace
Conference was then in session, and where we were kindly received by
the American representatives.

The thing that impressed itself most on me in Holland was the
thoroughness of the agriculture and the excellence of the Holstein
cattle. I never knew, before visiting Holland, how much it was
possible for people to get out of a small plot of ground. It seemed to
me that absolutely no land was wasted. It was worth a trip to Holland,
too, just to get a sight of three or four hundred fine Holstein cows
grazing in one of those intensely green fields.

From Holland we went to Belgium, and made a hasty trip through that
country, stopping at Brussels, where we visited the battlefield of
Waterloo. From Belgium we went direct to Paris, where we found that
Mr. Theodore Stanton, the son of Mrs.
Elizabeth279 Cady Stanton, had kindly provided accommodations for us. We
had barely got settled in Paris before an invitation came to me from
the University Club of Paris to be its guest at a banquet which was
soon to be given. The other guests were ex-President Benjamin Harrison
and Archbishop Ireland, who were in Paris at the time. The American
Ambassador, General Horace Porter, presided at the banquet. My address
on this occasion seemed to give satisfaction to those who heard it.
General Harrison kindly devoted a large portion of his remarks at
dinner to myself and to the influence of the work at Tuskegee on the
American race question. After my address at this banquet other
invitations came to me, but I declined the most of them, knowing that
if I accepted them all, the object of my visit would be defeated. I
did, however, consent to deliver an address in the American chapel the
following Sunday morning, and at this meeting General Harrison,
General Porter, and other distinguished Americans were present.

Later we received a formal call from the American Ambassador, and
were invited to attend a reception at his residence. At this reception
we met many Americans, among them Justices Fuller and Harlan, of the
United States Supreme Court.
During280 our entire stay of a month in Paris, both the American
Ambassador and his wife, as well as several other Americans, were very
kind to us.

While in Paris we saw a good deal of the now rather famous American Negro
painter, Mr. Henry O. Tanner, whom we had formerly known in America.
It was very satisfactory to find how well known Mr. Tanner was in the
field of art, and to note the high standing which all classes accorded
to him. When we told some Americans that we were going to the
Luxembourg Palace to see a painting by an American Negro, it was hard
to convince them that a Negro had been thus honoured. I do not believe
that they were really convinced of the fact until they saw the picture
for themselves. My acquaintance with Mr. Tanner reënforced in my mind
the truth which I am constantly trying to impress upon our students at
Tuskegee—and on our people throughout the country, as far as I can
reach them with my voice—that any man, regardless of colour, will be
recognized and rewarded just in proportion as he learns to do
something well—learns to do it better than some one else—however
humble the thing may be. As I have said, I believe that my race will
succeed in proportion as it learns to do a common thing in an uncommon
manner; learns to do a thing so thoroughly that no one can
improve281 upon what it has done; learns to make its services of
indispensable value. This was the spirit that inspired me in my first
effort at Hampton, when I was given the opportunity to sweep and dust
that schoolroom. In a degree I felt that my whole future life depended
upon the thoroughness with which I cleaned that room, and I was
determined to do it so well that no one could find any fault with the
job. Few people ever stopped, I found, when looking at his pictures, to
inquire whether Mr. Tanner was a Negro painter, a French painter, or a
German painter. They simply knew that he was able to produce something
which the world wanted—a great painting—and the matter of his
colour did not enter into their minds. When a Negro girl learns to
cook, to wash dishes, to sew, to write a book, or a Negro boy learns
to groom horses, or to grow sweet potatoes, or to produce butter, or
to build a house, or to be able to practise medicine, as well or
better than some one else, they will be rewarded regardless of race or
colour. In the long run, the world is going to have the best, and any
difference in race, religion, or previous history will not long keep
the world from what it wants.

I think that the whole future of my race hinges on the question as to
whether or not it can make itself of such indispensable value that the people in
the282 town and the state where we reside will feel that our presence is
necessary to the happiness and well-being of the community. No man who
continues to add something to the material, intellectual, and moral
well-being of the place in which he lives is long left without proper
reward. This is a great human law which cannot be permanently nullified.

The love of pleasure and excitement which seems in a large measure to
possess the French people impressed itself upon me. I think they are
more noted in this respect than is true of the people of my own race.
In point of morality and moral earnestness I do not believe that the
French are ahead of my own race in America. Severe competition and the
great stress of life have led them to learn to do things more
thoroughly and to exercise greater economy; but time, I think, will
bring my race to the same point. In the matter of truth and high
honour I do not believe that the average Frenchman is ahead of the
American Negro; while so far as mercy and kindness to dumb animals go,
I believe that my race is far ahead. In fact, when I left France, I
had more faith in the future of the black man in America than I had
ever possessed.

From Paris we went to London, and reached there early in July, just
about the height of the London social season. Parliament was in session,
and283 there was a great deal of gaiety. Mr. Garrison and other friends
had provided us with a large number of letters of introduction, and
they had also sent letters to other persons in different parts of the
United Kingdom, apprising these people of our coming. Very soon after
reaching London we were flooded with invitations to attend all manner
of social functions, and a great many invitations came to me asking
that I deliver public addresses. The most of these invitations I
declined, for the reason that I wanted to rest. Neither were we able
to accept more than a small proportion of the other invitations. The
Rev. Dr. Brooke Herford and Mrs. Herford, whom I had known in Boston,
consulted with the American Ambassador, the Hon. Joseph Choate, and
arranged for me to speak at a public meeting to be held in Essex Hall.
Mr. Choate kindly consented to preside. The meeting was largely
attended. There were many distinguished persons present, among them
several members of Parliament, including Mr. James Bryce, who spoke at
the meeting. What the American Ambassador said in introducing me, as
well as a synopsis of what I said, was widely published in England and
in the American papers at the time. Dr. and Mrs. Herford gave Mrs.
Washington and myself a reception, at which we had the privilege of meeting some
of284 the best people in England. Throughout our stay in London
Ambassador Choate was most kind and attentive to us. At the
Ambassador’s reception I met, for the first time, Mark Twain.

We were the guests several times of Mrs. T. Fisher Unwin, the
daughter of the English statesman, Richard Cobden. It seemed as if
both Mr. and Mrs. Unwin could not do enough for our comfort and
happiness. Later, for nearly a week, we were the guests of the
daughter of John Bright, now Mrs. Clark, of Street, England. Both Mr.
and Mrs. Clark, with their daughter, visited us at Tuskegee the next
year. In Birmingham, England, we were the guests for several days of
Mr. Joseph Sturge, whose father was a great abolitionist and friend of
Whittier and Garrison. It was a great privilege to meet throughout
England those who had known and honoured the late William Lloyd
Garrison, the Hon. Frederick Douglass, and other abolitionists. The
English abolitionists with whom we came in contact never seemed to
tire of talking about these two Americans. Before going to England I
had had no proper conception of the deep interest displayed by the
abolitionists of England in the cause of freedom, nor did I realize
the amount of substantial help given by them.

In Bristol, England, both Mrs. Washington and
I285 spoke at the Women’s Liberal Club. I was also the principal speaker
at the Commencement exercises of the Royal College for the Blind.
These exercises were held in the Crystal Palace, and the presiding
officer was the late Duke of Westminster, who was said to be, I
believe, the richest man in England, if not in the world. The Duke, as
well as his wife and their daughter, seemed to be pleased with what I
said, and thanked me heartily. Through the kindness of Lady Aberdeen,
my wife and I were enabled to go with a party of those who were
attending the International Congress of Women, then in session in
London, to see Queen Victoria, at Windsor Castle, where, afterward, we
were all the guests of her Majesty at tea. In our party was Miss Susan
B. Anthony, and I was deeply impressed with the fact that one did not
often get an opportunity to see, during the same hour, two women so
remarkable in different ways as Susan B. Anthony and Queen Victoria.

In the House of Commons, which we visited several times, we met Sir
Henry M. Stanley. I talked with him about Africa and its relation to
the American Negro, and after my interview with him I became more
convinced than ever that there was no hope of the American Negro’s
improving his condition by emigrating to Africa.

On286 various occasions Mrs. Washington and I were the guests of
Englishmen in their country homes, where, I think, one sees the
Englishman at his best. In one thing, at least, I feel sure that the
English are ahead of Americans, and that is, that they have learned
how to get more out of life. The home life of the English seems to me
to be about as perfect as anything can be. Everything moves like
clockwork. I was impressed, too, with the deference that the servants
show to their “masters” and “mistresses,”—terms which I suppose
would not be tolerated in America. The English servant expects, as a
rule, to be nothing but a servant, and so he perfects himself in the
art to a degree that no class of servants in America has yet reached.
In our country the servant expects to become, in a few years, a
“master” himself. Which system is preferable? I will not venture an
answer.

Another thing that impressed itself upon me throughout England was
the high regard that all classes have for law and order, and the ease
and thoroughness with which everything is done. The Englishmen, I
found, took plenty of time for eating, as for everything else. I am
not sure if, in the long run, they do not accomplish as much or more
than rushing, nervous Americans do.

My287 visit to England gave me a higher regard for the nobility than I
had had. I had no idea that they were so generally loved and respected
by the masses, nor had I any correct conception of how much time and
money they spent in works of philanthropy, and how much real heart
they put into this work. My impression had been that they merely spent
money freely and had a “good time.”

It was hard for me to get accustomed to speaking to English
audiences. The average Englishman is so serious, and is so
tremendously in earnest about everything, that when I told a story
that would have made an American audience roar with laughter, the
Englishmen simply looked me straight in the face without even cracking
a smile.

When the Englishman takes you into his heart and friendship, he binds
you there as with cords of steel, and I do not believe that there are
many other friendships that are so lasting or so satisfactory. Perhaps
I can illustrate this point in no better way than by relating the
following incident. Mrs. Washington and I were invited to attend a
reception given by the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland, at Stafford
House—said to be the finest house in London; I may add that I
believe the Duchess of Sutherland is said to be the most beautiful woman
in288 England. There must have been at least three hundred persons at
this reception. Twice during the evening the Duchess sought us out for
a conversation, and she asked me to write her when we got home, and
tell her more about the work at Tuskegee. This I did. When Christmas
came we were surprised and delighted to receive her photograph with
her autograph on it. The correspondence has continued, and we now feel
that in the Duchess of Sutherland we have one of our warmest friends.

After three months in Europe we sailed from Southampton in the
steamship St. Louis. On this steamer there was a fine library that had
been presented to the ship by the citizens of St. Louis, Mo. In this
library I found a life of Frederick Douglass, which I began reading. I
became especially interested in Mr. Douglass’s description of the way
he was treated on shipboard during his first or second visit to
England. In this description he told how he was not permitted to enter
the cabin, but had to confine himself to the deck of the ship. A few
minutes after I had finished reading this description I was waited on
by a committee of ladies and gentlemen with the request that I deliver
an address at a concert which was to be given the following evening.
And yet there are people who
are289 bold enough to say that race feeling in America is not growing
less intense! At this concert the Hon. Benjamin B. Odell, Jr., the
present governor of New York, presided. I was never given a more
cordial hearing anywhere. A large proportion of the passengers were
Southern people. After the concert some of the passengers proposed
that a subscription be raised to help the work at Tuskegee, and the
money to support several scholarships was the result.

While we were in Paris I was very pleasantly surprised to receive the
following invitation from the citizens of West Virginia and of the
city near which I had spent my boyhood days:—

Charleston W. Va., May 16, 1899.

Professor Booker T. Washington, Paris, France:

Dear Sir: Many of the best citizens of West Virginia have united in
liberal expressions of admiration and praise of your worth and work,
and desire that on your return from Europe you should favour them with
your presence and with the inspiration of your words. We most
sincerely indorse this move, and on behalf of the citizens of
Charleston extend to you our most cordial invitation to have you come
to us, that we may honour you who have done so much by your life and
work to honour us.

We are,

Very truly yours,

The Common Council of the City of Charleston,

By W. Herman Smith, Mayor.

This290 invitation from the City Council of Charleston was accompanied
by the following:—

Professor Booker T. Washington, Paris, France:

Dear Sir: We, the citizens of Charleston and West Virginia, desire to
express our pride in you and the splendid career that you have thus
far accomplished, and ask that we be permitted to show our pride and
interest in a substantial way.

Your recent visit to your old home in our midst awoke within us the
keenest regret that we were not permitted to hear you and render some
substantial aid to your work, before you left for Europe.

In view of the foregoing, we earnestly invite you to share the
hospitality of our city upon your return from Europe, and give us the
opportunity to hear you and put ourselves in touch with your work in a
way that will be most gratifying to yourself, and that we may receive
the inspiration of your words and presence.

An early reply to this invitation, with an indication of the time you
may reach our city, will greatly oblige,

This invitation, coming as it did from the City Council, the state
officers, and all the substantial citizens of both races of the
community where I had spent my boyhood, and from which I had gone a
few years before, unknown, in poverty and ignorance, in quest of an
education, not only surprised me, but almost unmanned me. I could not
understand what I had done to deserve it all.

I accepted the invitation, and at the appointed day was met at the
railway station at Charleston by a committee headed by ex-Governor W.
A. MacCorkle, and composed of men of both races. The public reception
was held in the Opera-House at Charleston. The Governor of the state,
the Hon. George W. Atkinson, presided, and an address of welcome was
made by ex-Governor MacCorkle. A prominent part in the reception was
taken by the coloured citizens. The Opera-House was filled with
citizens of both races, and among the white people were many for whom
I had worked when a boy. The next day Governor and Mrs. Atkinson gave
me a public reception at the State House, which was attended by all
classes.

Not292 long after this the coloured people in Atlanta, Georgia, gave me
a reception at which the Governor of the state presided, and a similar
reception was given me in New Orleans, which was presided over by the
Mayor of the city. Invitations came from many other places which I was
not able to accept.

CHAPTER XVII

LAST WORDS

B

EFORE going to Europe some events came into my life which were great
surprises to me. In fact, my whole life has largely been one of
surprises. I believe that any man’s life will be filled with constant,
unexpected encouragements of this kind if he makes up his mind to do
his level best each day of his life—that is, tries to make each day
reach as nearly as possible the high-water mark of pure, unselfish,
useful living. I pity the man, black or white, who has never
experienced the joy and satisfaction that come to one by reason of an
effort to assist in making some one else more useful and more happy.

Six months before he died, and nearly a year after he had been
stricken with paralysis, General Armstrong expressed a wish to visit
Tuskegee again before he passed away. Notwithstanding the fact that he
had lost the use of his limbs to such an extent that he was
practically helpless, his wish was gratified, and he was brought to Tuskegee.
The294 owners of the Tuskegee Railroad, white men living in the town, offered
to run a special train, without cost, out to the main station—Chehaw,
five miles away—to meet him. He arrived on the school
grounds about nine o’clock in the evening. Some one had suggested that
we give the General a “pine-knot torchlight reception.” This plan was
carried out, and the moment that his carriage entered the school
grounds he began passing between two lines of lighted and waving “fat
pine” wood knots held by over a thousand students and teachers. The
whole thing was so novel and surprising that the General was
completely overcome with happiness. He remained a guest in my home for
nearly two months, and, although almost wholly without the use of
voice or limb, he spent nearly every hour in devising ways and means to
help the South. Time and time again he said to me, during this visit,
that it was not only the duty of the country to assist in elevating
the Negro of the South, but the poor white man as well. At the end of
his visit I resolved anew to devote myself more earnestly than ever to
the cause which was so near his heart. I said that if a man in his
condition was willing to think, work, and act, I should not be wanting
in furthering in every possible way the wish of his heart.

The295 death of General Armstrong, a few weeks later, gave me the
privilege of getting acquainted with one of the finest, most
unselfish, and most attractive men that I have ever come in contact
with. I refer to the Rev. Dr. Hollis B. Frissell, now the Principal of
the Hampton Institute, and General Armstrong’s successor. Under the
clear, strong, and almost perfect leadership of Dr. Frissell, Hampton
has had a career of prosperity and usefulness that is all that the
General could have wished for. It seems to be the constant effort of
Dr. Frissell to hide his own great personality behind that of General
Armstrong—to make himself of “no reputation” for the sake of the
cause.

More than once I have been asked what was the greatest surprise that
ever came to me. I have little hesitation in answering that question.
It was the following letter, which came to me one Sunday morning when
I was sitting on the veranda of my home at Tuskegee, surrounded by my
wife and three children:—

Harvard University, Cambridge, May 28, 1896.

President Booker T. Washington,

My Dear Sir: Harvard University desires to confer on you at the
approaching Commencement an honorary degree; but it is our custom to
confer degrees only on gentlemen who are present. Our Commencement occurs this year
on296 June 24, and your presence would be desirable from about noon till
about five o’clock in the afternoon. Would it be possible for you to
be in Cambridge on that day?

Believe me, with great regard,

Very truly yours,

Charles W. Eliot.

This was a recognition that had never in the slightest manner entered
into my mind, and it was hard for me to realize that I was to be
honoured by a degree from the oldest and most renowned university in
America. As I sat upon my veranda, with this letter in my hand, tears
came into my eyes. My whole former life—my life as a slave on the
plantation, my work in the coal-mine, the times when I was without
food and clothing, when I made my bed under a sidewalk, my struggles
for an education, the trying days I had had at Tuskegee, days when I
did not know where to turn for a dollar to continue the work there,
the ostracism and sometimes oppression of my race,—all this passed
before me and nearly overcame me.

I had never sought or cared for what the world calls fame. I have
always looked upon fame as something to be used in accomplishing good.
I have often said to my friends that if I can use whatever prominence
may have come to me as an instrument with which to do good, I am content to have it. I
care297 for it only as a means to be used for doing good, just as wealth
may be used. The more I come into contact with wealthy people, the
more I believe that they are growing in the direction of looking upon
their money simply as an instrument which God has placed in their hand
for doing good with. I never go to the office of Mr. John D.
Rockefeller, who more than once has been generous to Tuskegee, without
being reminded of this. The close, careful, and minute investigation
that he always makes in order to be sure that every dollar that he
gives will do the most good—an investigation that is
just as searching as if he were investing money in a business
enterprise—convinces me that the growth in this direction
is most encouraging.

At nine o’clock, on the morning of June 24, I met President Eliot,
the Board of Overseers of Harvard University, and the other guests, at
the designated place on the university grounds, for the purpose of
being escorted to Sanders Theatre, where the Commencement exercises
were to be held and degrees conferred. Among others invited to be
present for the purpose of receiving a degree at this time were
General Nelson A. Miles, Dr. Bell, the inventor of the Bell telephone,
Bishop Vincent, and the Rev. Minot J. Savage. We were placed in line
immediately behind the President and the Board of
Overseers, 298 and directly afterward the Governor of Massachusetts,
escorted by the Lancers, arrived and took his place in the line of
march by the side of President Eliot. In the line there were also
various other officers and professors, clad in cap and gown. In this
order we marched to Sanders Theatre, where, after the usual
Commencement exercises, came the conferring of the honorary degrees.
This, it seems, is always considered the most interesting feature at
Harvard. It is not known, until the individuals appear, upon whom the
honorary degrees are to be conferred, and those receiving these
honours are cheered by the students and others in proportion to their
popularity. During the conferring of the degrees excitement and
enthusiasm are at the highest pitch.

When my name was called, I rose, and President Eliot, in beautiful
and strong English, conferred upon me the degree of Master of Arts.
After these exercises were over, those who had received honorary
degrees were invited to lunch with the President. After the lunch we
were formed in line again, and were escorted by the Marshal of the
day, who that year happened to be Bishop William Lawrence, through the
grounds, where, at different points, those who had been honoured were
called by name and received the Harvard yell. This march
ended299 at Memorial Hall, where the alumni dinner was served. To see
over a thousand strong men, representing all that is best in State,
Church, business, and education, with the glow and enthusiasm of
college loyalty and college pride,—which has, I think, a peculiar
Harvard flavour,—is a sight that does not easily fade from memory.

Among the speakers after dinner were President Eliot, Governor Roger
Wolcott, General Miles, Dr. Minot J. Savage, the Hon. Henry Cabot
Lodge, and myself. When I was called upon, I said, among other things:—

It would in some measure relieve my embarrassment if I could, even in
a slight degree, feel myself worthy of the great honour which you do
me to-day. Why you have called me from the Black Belt of the South,
from among my humble people, to share in the honours of this occasion,
is not for me to explain; and yet it may not be inappropriate for me
to suggest that it seems to me that one of the most vital questions
that touch our American life is how to bring the strong, wealthy, and
learned into helpful touch with the poorest, most ignorant, and
humblest, and at the same time make one appreciate the vitalizing,
strengthening influence of the other. How shall we make the mansions
on yon Beacon Street feel and see the need of the spirits in the
lowliest cabin in Alabama cotton-fields or Louisiana sugar-bottoms?
This problem Harvard University is solving, not by bringing itself
down, but by bringing the masses up.

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

If300 my life in the past has meant anything in the lifting up of my
people and the bringing about of better relations between your race
and mine, I assure you from this day it will mean doubly more. In the
economy of God there is but one standard by which an individual can
succeed—there is but one for a race. This country demands that every
race shall measure itself by the American standard. By it a race must
rise or fall, succeed or fail, and in the last analysis mere sentiment
counts for little. During the next half-century and more, my race must
continue passing through the severe American crucible. We are to be
tested in our patience, our forbearance, our perseverance, our power
to endure wrong, to withstand temptations, to economize, to acquire
and use skill; in our ability to compete, to succeed in commerce, to
disregard the superficial for the real, the appearance for the
substance, to be great and yet small, learned and yet simple, high and
yet the servant of all.

As this was the first time that a New England university had
conferred an honorary degree upon a Negro, it was the occasion of much
newspaper comment throughout the country. A correspondent of a New
York paper said:—

When the name of Booker T. Washington was called, and he arose to
acknowledge and accept, there was such an outburst of applause as
greeted no other name except that of the popular soldier patriot,
General Miles. The applause was not studied and stiff, sympathetic and
condoling; it was enthusiasm and admiration. Every part of the
audience301 from pit to gallery joined in, and a glow covered the cheeks of those
around me, proving sincere appreciation of the rising struggle of an
ex-slave and the work he has accomplished for his race.

A Boston paper said, editorially:—

In conferring the honorary degree of Master of Arts upon the
Principal of Tuskegee Institute, Harvard University has honoured
itself as well as the object of this distinction. The work which
Professor Booker T. Washington has accomplished for the education,
good citizenship, and popular enlightenment in his chosen field of
labour in the South entitles him to rank with our national
benefactors. The university which can claim him on its list of sons,
whether in regular course or honoris causa, may be proud.

It has been mentioned that Mr. Washington is the first of his race to
receive an honorary degree from a New England university. This, in
itself, is a distinction. But the degree was not conferred because Mr.
Washington is a coloured man, or because he was born in slavery, but
because he has shown, by his work for the elevation of the people of
the Black Belt of the South, a genius and a broad humanity which count
for greatness in any man, whether his skin be white or black.

Another Boston paper said:—

It is Harvard which, first among New England colleges, confers an
honorary degree upon a black man. No one who has followed the history
of Tuskegee and its work can fail to admire the courage, persistence, and splendid
common302 sense of Booker T. Washington. Well may Harvard honour the ex-slave,
the value of whose services, alike to his race and country, only the
future can estimate.

The correspondent of the New York Times wrote:—

All the speeches were enthusiastically received, but the coloured man
carried off the oratorical honours, and the applause which broke out
when he had finished was vociferous and long-continued.

Soon after I began work at Tuskegee I formed a resolution, in the
secret of my heart, that I would try to build up a school that would
be of so much service to the country that the President of the United
States would one day come to see it. This was, I confess, rather a
bold resolution, and for a number of years I kept it hidden in my own
thoughts, not daring to share it with any one.

In November, 1897, I made the first move in this direction, and that
was in securing a visit from a member of President McKinley’s Cabinet,
the Hon. James Wilson, Secretary of Agriculture. He came to deliver an
address at the formal opening of the Slater-Armstrong Agricultural
Building, our first large building to be used for the purpose of
giving training to our students in agriculture and kindred branches.

In303 the fall of 1898 I heard that President McKinley was likely to
visit Atlanta, Georgia, for the purpose of taking part in the Peace
Jubilee exercises to be held there to commemorate the successful close
of the Spanish-American war. At this time I had been hard at work,
together with our teachers, for eighteen years, trying to build up a
school that we thought would be of service to the Nation, and I
determined to make a direct effort to secure a visit from the
President and his Cabinet. I went to Washington, and I was not long in
the city before I found my way to the White House. When I got there I
found the waiting rooms full of people, and my heart began to sink,
for I feared there would not be much chance of my seeing the President
that day, if at all. But, at any rate, I got an opportunity to see Mr.
J. Addison Porter, the secretary to the President, and explained to
him my mission. Mr. Porter kindly sent my card directly to the
President, and in a few minutes word came from Mr. McKinley that he
would see me.

How any man can see so many people of all kinds, with all kinds of
errands, and do so much hard work, and still keep himself calm,
patient, and fresh for each visitor in the way that President McKinley
does, I cannot understand. When I saw the President he kindly thanked me for the work
which304 we were doing at Tuskegee for the interests of the country. I
then told him, briefly, the object of my visit. I impressed upon him
the fact that a visit from the Chief Executive of the Nation would not
only encourage our students and teachers, but would help the entire
race. He seemed interested, but did not make a promise to go to
Tuskegee, for the reason that his plans about going to Atlanta were
not then fully made; but he asked me to call the matter to his
attention a few weeks later.

By the middle of the following month the President had definitely
decided to attend the Peace Jubilee at Atlanta. I went to Washington
again and saw him, with a view of getting him to extend his trip to
Tuskegee. On this second visit Mr. Charles W. Hare, a prominent white
citizen of Tuskegee, kindly volunteered to accompany me, to reënforce
my invitation with one from the white people of Tuskegee and the
vicinity.

Just previous to my going to Washington the second time, the country
had been excited, and the coloured people greatly depressed, because
of several severe race riots which had occurred at different points in
the South. As soon as I saw the President, I perceived that his heart
was greatly burdened by reason of these race disturbances. Although
there were many people waiting to see
him, 305 he detained me for some time, discussing the condition and
prospects of the race. He remarked several times that he was
determined to show his interest and faith in the race, not merely in
words, but by acts. When I told him that I thought that at that time
scarcely anything would go farther in giving hope and encouragement to
the race than the fact that the President of the Nation would be
willing to travel one hundred and forty miles out of his way to spend
a day at a Negro institution, he seemed deeply impressed.

While I was with the President, a white citizen of Atlanta, a
Democrat and an ex-slaveholder, came into the room, and the President
asked his opinion as to the wisdom of his going to Tuskegee. Without
hesitation the Atlanta man replied that it was the proper thing for
him to do. This opinion was reënforced by that friend of the race, Dr.
J. L. M. Curry. The President promised that he would visit our school
on the 16th of December.

When it became known that the President was going to visit our
school, the white citizens of the town of Tuskegee—a mile distant
from the school—were as much pleased as were our students and
teachers. The white people of the town, including both men and women,
began arranging to decorate the town, and to form themselves into committees
for306 the purpose of coöperating with the officers of our school in
order that the distinguished visitor might have a fitting reception. I
think I never realized before this how much the white people of
Tuskegee and vicinity thought of our institution. During the days when
we were preparing for the President’s reception, dozens of these
people came to me and said that, while they did not want to push
themselves into prominence, if there was anything they could do to
help, or to relieve me personally, I had but to intimate it and they
would be only too glad to assist. In fact, the thing that touched me
almost as deeply as the visit of the President itself was the deep
pride which all classes of citizens in Alabama seemed to take in our
work.

The morning of December 16th brought to the little city of Tuskegee
such a crowd as it had never seen before. With the President came Mrs.
McKinley and all of the Cabinet officers but one; and most of them
brought their wives or some members of their families. Several
prominent generals came, including General Shafter and General Joseph
Wheeler, who were recently returned from the Spanish-American war.
There was also a host of newspaper correspondents. The Alabama
Legislature was in session at Montgomery at this time. This body
passed a resolution to adjourn for the
purpose307 of visiting Tuskegee. Just before the arrival of the
President’s party the Legislature arrived, headed by the governor and
other state officials.

The citizens of Tuskegee had decorated the town from the station to
the school in a generous manner. In order to economize in the matter
of time, we arranged to have the whole school pass in review before
the President. Each student carried a stalk of sugar-cane with some
open bolls of cotton fastened to the end of it. Following the students
the work of all departments of the school passed in review, displayed
on “floats” drawn by horses, mules, and oxen. On these floats we tried
to exhibit not only the present work of the school, but to show the
contrasts between the old methods of doing things and the new. As an
example, we showed the old method of dairying in contrast with the
improved methods, the old methods of tilling the soil in contrast with
the new, the old methods of cooking and housekeeping in contrast with
the new. These floats consumed an hour and a half of time in passing.

In his address in our large, new chapel, which the students had
recently completed, the President said, among other things:—

To meet you under such pleasant auspices and to have the opportunity
of a personal observation of your work is
indeed308 most gratifying. The Tuskegee Normal and Industrial Institute
is ideal in its conception, and has already a large and growing
reputation in the country, and is not unknown abroad. I congratulate
all who are associated in this undertaking for the good work which it
is doing in the education of its students to lead lives of honour and
usefulness, thus exalting the race for which it was established.

Nowhere, I think, could a more delightful location have been chosen
for this unique educational experiment, which has attracted the
attention and won the support even of conservative philanthropists in
all sections of the country.

To speak of Tuskegee without paying special tribute to Booker T.
Washington’s genius and perseverance would be impossible. The
inception of this noble enterprise was his, and he deserves high
credit for it. His was the enthusiasm and enterprise which made its
steady progress possible and established in the institution its
present high standard of accomplishment. He has won a worthy
reputation as one of the great leaders of his race, widely known and
much respected at home and abroad as an accomplished educator, a great
orator, and a true philanthropist.

The Hon. John D. Long, the Secretary of the Navy, said in part:—

I cannot make a speech to-day. My heart is too full—full of hope,
admiration, and pride for my countrymen of both sections and both
colours. I am filled with gratitude and admiration for your work, and
from this time forward I shall have absolute confidence in your
progress and in the solution of the problem in which you are engaged.

The309 problem, I say, has been solved. A picture has been presented
to-day which should be put upon canvas with the pictures of Washington
and Lincoln, and transmitted to future time and generations—a
picture which the press of the country should spread broadcast over
the land, a most dramatic picture, and that picture is this: The
President of the United States standing on this platform; on one side
the Governor of Alabama, on the other, completing the trinity, a
representative of a race only a few years ago in bondage, the coloured
President of the Tuskegee Normal and Industrial Institute.

God bless the President under whose majesty such a scene as that is
presented to the American people. God bless the state of Alabama,
which is showing that it can deal with this problem for itself. God
bless the orator, philanthropist, and disciple of the Great
Master—who, if he were on earth, would be doing the same
work—Booker T. Washington.

Postmaster General Smith closed the address which he made with these
words:—

We have witnessed many spectacles within the last few days. We have
seen the magnificent grandeur and the magnificent achievements of one
of the great metropolitan cities of the South. We have seen heroes of
the war pass by in procession. We have seen floral parades. But I am
sure my colleagues will agree with me in saying that we have witnessed
no spectacle more impressive and more encouraging, more inspiring for
our future, than that which we have witnessed here this morning.

Some310 days after the President returned to Washington I received the
letter which follows:—

Executive Mansion, Washington, Dec. 23, 1899.

Dear Sir: By this mail I take pleasure in sending you engrossed
copies of the souvenir of the visit of the President to your
institution. These sheets bear the autographs of the President and the
members of the Cabinet who accompanied him on the trip. Let me take
this opportunity of congratulating you most heartily and sincerely
upon the great success of the exercises provided for and entertainment
furnished us under your auspices during our visit to Tuskegee. Every
feature of the programme was perfectly executed and was viewed or
participated in with the heartiest satisfaction by every visitor
present. The unique exhibition which you gave of your pupils engaged
in their industrial vocations was not only artistic but thoroughly
impressive. The tribute paid by the President and his Cabinet to your
work was none too high, and forms a most encouraging augury, I think,
for the future prosperity of your institution. I cannot close without
assuring you that the modesty shown by yourself in the exercises was
most favourably commented upon by all the members of our party.

With best wishes for the continued advance of your most useful and
patriotic undertaking, kind personal regards, and the compliments of
the season, believe me, always,

Twenty311 years have now passed since I made the first humble effort at
Tuskegee, in a broken-down shanty and an old hen-house, without owning
a dollar’s worth of property, and with but one teacher and thirty
students. At the present time the institution owns twenty-three
hundred acres of land, over seven hundred of which are under cultivation
each year, entirely by student labour. There are now upon the grounds,
counting large and small, forty buildings; and all except four of
these have been almost wholly erected by the labour of our students.
While the students are at work upon the land and in erecting
buildings, they are taught, by competent instructors, the latest
methods of agriculture and the trades connected with building.

There are in constant operation at the school, in connection with
thorough academic and religious training, twenty-eight industrial
departments. All of these teach industries at which our men and women
can find immediate employment as soon as they leave the institution.
The only difficulty now is that the demand for our graduates from both
white and black people in the South is so great that we cannot supply
more than one-half the persons for whom applications come to us.
Neither have we the buildings nor the money for current expenses to
enable us to admit to the school more
than312 one-half the young men and women who apply to us for admission.

In our industrial teaching we keep three things in mind: first, that
the student shall be so educated that he shall be enabled to meet
conditions as they exist now, in the part of the South where he
lives—in a word, to be able to do the thing which the world wants done;
second, that every student who graduates from the school shall have
enough skill, coupled with intelligence and moral character, to enable
him to make a living for himself and others; third, to send every
graduate out feeling and knowing that labour is dignified and
beautiful—to make each one love labour instead of trying to escape
it. In addition to the agricultural training which we give to young
men, and the training given to our girls in all the usual domestic
employments, we now train a number of girls in agriculture each year.
These girls are taught gardening, fruit-growing, dairying,
bee-culture, and poultry-raising.

While the institution is in no sense denominational, we have a
department known as the Phelps Hall Bible Training School, in which a
number of students are prepared for the ministry and other forms of
Christian work, especially work in the country districts. What is
equally important, each one of these students works half of each day at some
industry, 313 in order to get skill and the love of work, so that when he
goes out from the institution he is prepared to set the people with
whom he goes to labour a proper example in the matter of industry.

The value of our property is now over $300,000. If we add to this our
endowment fund, which at present is $215,000, the value of the total
property is now nearly half a million dollars. Aside from the need for more buildings and
for money for current expenses, the endowment fund should be increased
to at least $500,000. The annual current expenses are now about
$80,000. The greater part of this I collect each year by going from
door to door and from house to house. All of our property is free from
mortgage, and is deeded to an undenominational board of trustees who
have the control of the institution.

From thirty students the number has grown to eleven hundred, coming
from twenty-seven states and territories, from Africa, Cuba, Porto
Rico, Jamaica, and other foreign countries. In our departments there
are eighty-six officers and instructors; and if we add the
families of our instructors, we have a constant population upon our
grounds of not far from fourteen hundred people.

I have often been asked how we keep so large a body of people
together, and at the same time keep
them314 out of mischief. There are two answers: that the men and women
who come to us for an education are in earnest; and that everybody is
kept busy. The following outline of our daily work will testify to
this:—

We try to keep constantly in mind the fact that the worth of the
school is to be judged by its graduates. Counting those who have
finished the full course, together with those who have taken enough
training to enable them to do reasonably good work, we can safely say
that at least three thousand men and women from Tuskegee are now at work
in different parts of the South; men and women who, by their own
example or by direct effort, are
showing315 the masses of our race how to improve their material, educational,
and moral and religious life. What is equally important, they are
exhibiting a degree of common sense and self-control which is causing
better relations to exist between the races, and is causing the
Southern white man to learn to believe in the value of educating the
men and women of my race. Aside from this, there is the influence that
is constantly being exerted through the mothers’ meeting and the
plantation work conducted by Mrs. Washington.

Wherever our graduates go, the changes which soon begin to appear in
the buying of land, improving homes, saving money, in education, and
in high moral character are remarkable. Whole communities are fast
being revolutionized through the instrumentality of these men and women.

Ten years ago I organized at Tuskegee the first Negro Conference.
This is an annual gathering which now brings to the school eight or
nine hundred representative men and women of the race, who come to
spend a day in finding out what the actual industrial, mental, and
moral conditions of the people are, and in forming plans for
improvement. Out from this central Negro Conference at Tuskegee have
grown numerous state and local conferences which are doing the same kind of work. As a
result316 of the influence of these gatherings, one delegate reported at
the last annual meeting that ten families in his community had bought
and paid for homes. On the day following the annual Negro Conference,
there is held the “Workers’ Conference.” This is composed of officers
and teachers who are engaged in educational work in the larger
institutions in the South. The Negro Conference furnishes a rare
opportunity for these workers to study the real condition of the rank
and file of the people.

In the summer of 1900, with the assistance of such prominent coloured
men as Mr. T. Thomas Fortune, who has always upheld my hands in every
effort, I organized the National Negro Business League, which held its
first meeting in Boston, and brought together for the first time a
large number of the coloured men who are engaged in various lines of
trade or business in different parts of the United States. Thirty
states were represented at our first meeting. Out of this national
meeting grew state and local business leagues.

In addition to looking after the executive side of the work at
Tuskegee, and raising the greater part of the money for the support of
the school, I cannot seem to escape the duty of answering at least a
part of the calls which come to me unsought to address
Southern317 white audiences and audiences of my own race, as well as
frequent gatherings in the North. As to how much of my time is spent
in this way, the following clipping from a Buffalo (N.Y.) paper will
tell. This has reference to an occasion when I spoke before the
National Educational Association in that city.

Booker T. Washington, the foremost educator among the coloured people
of the world, was a very busy man from the time he arrived in the city
the other night from the West and registered at the Iroquois. He had
hardly removed the stains of travel when it was time to partake of
supper. Then he held a public levee in the parlours of the Iroquois
until eight o’clock. During that time he was greeted by over two
hundred eminent teachers and educators from all parts of the United
States. Shortly after eight o’clock he was driven in a carriage to
Music Hall, and in one hour and a half he made two ringing addresses,
to as many as five thousand people, on Negro education. Then Mr.
Washington was taken in charge by a delegation of coloured citizens,
headed by the Rev. Mr. Watkins, and hustled off to a small informal
reception, arranged in honour of the visitor by the people of his race.

Nor can I, in addition to making these addresses, escape the duty of
calling the attention of the South and of the country in general,
through the medium of the press, to matters that pertain to the interests
of318 both races. This, for example, I have done in regard to the evil
habit of lynching. When the Louisiana State Constitutional Convention
was in session, I wrote an open letter to that body pleading for
justice for the race. In all such efforts I have received warm and
hearty support from the Southern newspapers, as well as from those in
all other parts of the country.

Despite superficial and temporary signs which might lead one to
entertain a contrary opinion, there was never a time when I felt more
hopeful for the race than I do at the present. The great human law
that in the end recognizes and rewards merit is everlasting and
universal. The outside world does not know, neither can it appreciate,
the struggle that is constantly going on in the hearts of both the
Southern white people and their former slaves to free themselves from
racial prejudice; and while both races are thus struggling they should
have the sympathy, the support, and the forbearance of the rest of the
world.

As I write the closing words of this autobiography I find myself—not
by design—in the city of Richmond, Virginia: the city which only
a few decades ago was the capital of the Southern Confederacy, and
where, about twenty-five years ago,
because319 of my poverty I slept night after night under a sidewalk.

This time I am in Richmond as the guest of the coloured people of the
city; and came at their request to deliver an address last night to
both races in the Academy of Music, the largest and finest audience
room in the city. This was the first time that the coloured people had
ever been permitted to use this hall. The day before I came, the City
Council passed a vote to attend the meeting in a body to hear me
speak. The state Legislature, including the House of Delegates and the
Senate, also passed a unanimous vote to attend in a body. In the
presence of hundreds of coloured people, many distinguished white
citizens, the City Council, the state Legislature, and state
officials, I delivered my message, which was one of hope and cheer;
and from the bottom of my heart I thanked both races for this welcome
back to the state that gave me birth.

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